


A Weekend in Riverdale

by jthecd



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017), Supernatural
Genre: Explicit Language, Pop's Diner (Riverdale), Sweetwater River (Riverdale)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 32,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22260514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jthecd/pseuds/jthecd
Summary: When Sam and Dean Winchester stopped in Riverdale for a bite to eat between gigs, they never expected to stay for more than a couple hours, nor for the people of the town to be so mysterious...Taking place between Seasons Two and Three of Riverdale, and in the middle of Season Four of Supernatural, this is a crossover fanfiction that takes place over the course of a weekend that the Winchester brothers (plus Castiel) spend in Riverdale.Rated Mature for explicit language and references to violent acts.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

# Chapter One

## One Year Ago

#### Afternoon

The diner by the woods was always sure to host at least one interesting visitor. Of all the quirky places to be found in Riverdale, this was one location that would never lose its appeal; whether it was the high school students seeking an afternoon bite to eat, the families coming in for weekend milkshakes, or the tough-looking crowd proudly sporting snake-adorned jackets, it was loved and visited by all. None so much so, of course, as the young man with the odd hat and clunky typewriter, who seemed to always be sitting in the southwest corner, working on his magnum opus. Even when he wasn’t there physically—he had to make appearances at school from time to time, after all—the window booth he favoured was always empty, his preferred seat having taken on an honorary ongoing reservation. And the skepticism and high level of perception that he seemed to possess, even at his age, was always something that people noticed when they entered this unique building.

Today was no exception. At four thirty-three on a rainy Wednesday afternoon, the diner was booming, and noisy to boot, the teenagers restless after a long day of sitting and concentrating, the kitchen staff calling out orders to each other and moving like there was no tomorrow. With all the commotion, no one noticed the vintage black car pull up to the adjacent street outside, a sight that normally turned heads. Inside the car, two men sat, having a debate.

“Come on, Sam. Just a quick bite. You gotta eat,” the driver implored to the man next to him.

The man in the passenger seat gave the diner a look of indifference. “I told you, Dean. I’m not stepping foot in another diner for a year, at least. You go in. I’ll pick up something at the next gas station we visit.”

“That’s what you said at the _last_ gas station, man. How long has it even been since you last ate?” His brother said nothing at this. “Come on, this looks like the kind of place that’s got that vegetable-heavy food you like.”

“No, it doesn’t,” the younger man replied, sighing. “If anything, it looks like the kind of place that has that triple-burgers-and-fries type of thing that _you_ like.”

“Well, maybe it’s time to change your diet,” the driver said briskly, having recognized the resignation in his brother’s voice. “Come on. We won’t stay here long.”

“We weren’t gonna stay long the _last_ time, either,” the passenger muttered, rolling his eyes as he got out of the car, and followed his brother into the building. Amidst all the commotion within the diner, the two men, strangers to the town, were not taken note of by anyone.

Anyone, that is, except for the young man (Forsythe Jones, also known as “Jughead”) seated in his usual booth, who was at that moment engaged in conversation with the redhead and brunette seated across from him. As Sam and Dean entered, walking past the group’s booth, the young man took note of their presence, his eyes taking them in and narrowing just slightly, then returning to the eyes of the redhead, just in time to finish the point that he was making.

“…come on, Arch! I know the acting left a little to be desired, but the cinematography was unparalleled,” Jughead said to the redhead, who looked unconvinced.

“Sure, but when I go to watch an action movie, I’m in it just as much for the characters as I am the action, you know? These guys just didn’t make sense. I couldn’t understand why they were all working together.” Archie, the redhead, paused. “And they seemed so disorganized—there’s no way that any group that large is able to communicate that well with each other. There was barely any conflict within the group, even though there was plenty of reason for it to happen.”

The writer opened his mouth to reply, but the brunette, a young woman named Veronica, politely held up her hand to stop his words. “Archie has a point, Jug,” she said. “In any strong organization, you need a leader. Someone who _is_ powerful, and who commands respect, while still being empathetic of their followers’ needs. Someone to ensure that everyone stays loyal, and in a group this big, as Archie’s saying, who makes sure that everyone knows what’s going on. Also, I’d like to add that there was very little representation of women in this movie, and that the ones who were in it were quite objectified. I mean, that hot tub scene was completely unnecessary, and that’s just one example. It’s the year 2017, people,” she declared, saying this last part with conviction.

“Oh, I agree with that. There were flaws, like I said,” Jughead replied, “but, come on, _the camerawork_ was really incredible.”

Sam and Dean, who had found two seats at the counter, managed to overhear most of the brunette woman’s speech. Dean turned to Sam. “Sounds like most of the movies we watched as kids.” At this, the younger brother cracked a smile, and opened his mouth to reply.

However, he never got a chance, for at that very moment a hush fell over the entire diner, everyone’s eyes seeming to land on the door at once. Looking over, the two men saw a teenage girl, whose long red hair seemed to be even more fiery than Archie’s. As she gazed around the diner, she, like Jughead, immediately noticed the strange men at the counter, and stared at both with piercing brown eyes, seeming to glare into their souls. They looked away quickly. After gazing at them for a few seconds, the young woman relaxed slightly and began walking in their direction. At this, the rest of the diner seemed to take a breath of relief, and chatter quickly began to fill the space again, while the two men tensed. The new arrival made her way towards the brothers, but then proceeded to walk straight past them, to the booth just behind that of the group whose conversation they had just been listening to.

At this booth, another teenage girl sat, her blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail, her eyes alert. “Hi, Cheryl,” she said to the redhead. “Thanks for coming.”

“Hello, Betty,” the redhead replied, taking in the blonde’s pink sweater, her spiral notebook and adjacent collection of pens, and the half-consumed strawberry milkshake next to her. “I am honoured to be doing this interview for _The Blue and Gold,_ ” she continued as she sat down, enunciating her words as though she were making a speech to a crowd, not talking to one person. “As you saw last week, I am still grieving over the events of this past year, but I am happy to provide the public with some closure over the horrific things that my family has endured.”

Hearing this, Sam and Dean glanced at each other, but were unable to overhear any more of the conversation, as the owner of the store had finally come over to take their orders. "What can I get for you folks?”

While Sam, who had become considerably calmer (and hungrier) since entering the diner, asked about the soup and salad special that was advertised at the front door, Dean subtly glanced over at the two women seated behind him. Something about this town and diner, but particularly about these two, struck him as odd. He took a closer look at the redhead. She was intense—she spoke her words at a rapid pace, and used lots of flowery adjectives, her face expressive. Something about her was very unlike the teenagers he’d met on previous cases; although many teens were theatrical, she seemed to take it a step further. Glancing over at the blonde for a moment, and then at the teens from the other booth, he realized that they all had a rather odd, tense way about them. Although they seemed relaxed on the surface, their fidgeting hands and darting eyes gave Dean the impression that they were all anticipating disaster. Mulling this over for a moment, he suddenly realized that the redhead was glaring at him as she spoke her words—the blonde, furiously taking notes, did not notice—and he quickly averted his gaze back to the owner of the diner.

“Uhh,” he sputtered, having not looked at the menu at all, “I’ll have a double cheeseburger—with fries—and a large chocolate milkshake.” The owner nodded, smiling at the brothers briefly, and left.

Dean saw that Sam was looking at him. “What?”

“Dude. We’re going to be doing a break-and-enter in, what, twelve hours? You gonna have energy for that?”

Dean began to retort. “Sam, I’ve got a month and a half left. I don’t think it matters what I eat at th—” He froze, as did the expression on Sam’s face, for behind them, it sounded as though the redhead had just said the words “…when my twin brother was viciously murdered by our father.” The two men gave each other a startled look, and promptly began listening in on the conversation.

“Vengeance was served, of course,” the redhead continued. “My father died, by his own hand—” here, she paused, taking a dramatic breath—“and I nearly did, too. But fortunately, you, and Archie, and the rest of your little group were there to save me.” Again, her voice had taken on that detached quality, as though she were making a speech to a crowd of strangers, not talking to a friend about the traumatic events of her life.

While Dean kept his eyes on the photographs by the jukebox, not wanting to be caught eavesdropping again, it was Sam’s turn to take in the two young women, as his older brother had done moments previously. Unlike his brother, however, he focused on the blonde. At first glance, she seemed to simply be dedicated to the work of interviewing her guest, her expression seemingly calm and her tone of voice even, her words carefully enunciated. Yet as Sam looked closer, he saw something in her eyes, a sort of unusual energy, that suggested an intense inner turmoil. He realized that her collected, focused appearance was simply the result of a tremendous effort to restrain herself, and not because of a genuine sense of composure. More tactful than his brother, he soon turned his gaze and focused on the view out the east windows, taking in the river flowing in the distance.

The redhead continued. “I would like to inform the public that I am recovering, and determined to not let the Blossom name be completely tarnished. When my dear deceased brother, Jason, and I were planning his kidnapping at Sweetwater River, we knew that we could get caught, and that that would inevitably damage our high status. Of course, neither of us anticipated that he would soon be murdered…”

At this point, Dean and Sam were just looking at each other in awe, identical expressions of shock on their faces.

“…dear Betty, you and your friends saved my life last week, and for that I am eternally indebted. The Blossom name isn’t only a ‘flame’, so to speak, but also a strong backbone of this town, and for me to have died, well, Riverdale would have crumbled to ash, like a sinner in Hell…” At this, Dean and Sam simultaneously broke off eye contact, each directing their focus towards the design of the counter. “…I am devastated at the death of my brother, and the corruption of my late father, but I am confident that I can take up the mantle of running this powerhouse family…”

“I don’t know whether to be worried that we’re _still_ in the Trickster’s clutches, or to start investigating this entire town for the paranormal,” Sam muttered, causing Dean to grin.

“…you can expect to hear many of the same things that I’ve just said in my speech next week, but for now, Betty Cooper, this is a _Blue and Gold_ exclusive. Good day.” Cheryl finished her sentence with a decisive nod of her head, standing suddenly. As she exited the booth, she gave the men at the counter one last scorching stare, and both realized, belatedly, that they hadn’t been subtle enough with their eavesdropping. But after a moment, she turned on her heel, and was out of the diner as suddenly as she’d entered it.

The blonde, who hadn’t looked up once during this entire monologue, continued to scribble notes, while the two men just looked at each other, and then around the diner. No one around them seemed to have been perturbed by the words of the redhead, despite their being loud enough to carry over to many ears. The teenagers in the other booth, for example, were still talking about their movie. “Uh, so, was that just a typical conversation here?” Dean asked, bewildered. Sam just looked at him. “Dude, we just spent how many Tuesdays in the same diner, and you’re weirded out at _this_?” At this, Dean rolled his eyes. “Come on, Sam, you’ve gotta admit that even though we see a lot of strange things, that was just _odd_ ,” he replied. But the duo didn’t discuss this any further, for at that moment, their meals were delivered to them, and they began to eat.

About halfway through their meals, a large group of hardened-looking, tattooed individuals entered the diner, all wearing leather jackets with snake designs on the back. The diner remained busy, no one staring. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me,” Dean exclaimed. “For Rose Leslie, the entire diner goes quiet, but what looks like an entire biker gang walks in to a family-friendly establishment without a fuss?” In response, Sam looked around. “Yeah, you picked a weird town to stop in at, Dean,” he observed, too engrossed in the last few bites of his (admittedly delicious) meal, and thoughts of the last few days (six months, actually), to care.

“No, we’re leaving,” Dean said after a moment, as he got up and tossed a credit card down onto the counter. “You were right, Sammy, stopping here was not my best decision. Although this milkshake was decent,” he added as an afterthought. The two men got up, leaving the credit card on the counter without any apparent care, and took off.

At the booth, the redheaded teenage boy and the brunette were getting up to leave, but the third, Jughead, began unpacking his typewriter from his bag. “You both go ahead,” he said. “I just got a new idea for my novel. Did you see those two guys that were just here?” At this, he received blank stares from the other two. “Well, I got inspired from them. They looked like the types to have lots of secrets…anyway, that’s all I’m gonna say. They fit perfectly into the subplot that I’m currently working on.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One year after the events of Chapter One, Sam and Dean find themselves in Riverdale once again. Meanwhile, Betty, Veronica, Jughead, and Archie prepare for their eleventh grade final exams.

# Chapter Two

## Thursday

#### Morning

For someone whose life had been turned upside down in the last year (if having your sister give birth to twins and then skip town, a long-lost brother come to live with you who then turned out to not be your brother at all, and then having your father turn out to be a cold-blooded criminal mastermind constituted “having your life turned upside down”, that was), Elizabeth Cooper felt relatively calm today.

It probably had something to do with the weather. Elizabeth, or “Betty”, as she preferred, had always liked rainstorms that lasted for days, blisteringly loud thunder, lightning that cracked across the sky. And in Riverdale, where the sky was often cloudy but the rain only lasted twenty minutes at a time, that sort of rain came only a few times a year. Today, though, she’d woken up to the sound of thunder, and the weather had only intensified since then.

Today was Thursday, the date of her English final, her last exam of the school year, and it was only fitting that it should happen in a thunderstorm. After all, Betty had always taken a liking towards writing, and journalism in particular. (In an ironic twist of events, it was her usage of those journalism skills that had led to the incrimination, and subsequent imprisonment, of her own father, Hal.) She began packing up the texts that she’d read for class this year, one of which was _Macbeth_. As Betty remembered how she’d devoured it long before her class had started reading it, she sighed. She couldn’t help but see this as darkly significant, how she’d loved the story of a good man’s descent into evil. _Yet another example of just how much the Coopers love corruption_ , she thought. 

One house over, Betty’s best friend, Veronica Lodge, was also preparing for the final. But instead of getting ready at her own home, she was at her boyfriend’s house, where she had been staying for the last few nights. Around the same time that Hal Cooper had been arrested, Veronica had blackmailed her father, a powerful yet shady business dealer, by buying out the Whyte Wyrm, a pub frequented by Riverdale’s tougher crowd, from under him. Her parents had left for the week on a business trip, and she didn’t feel much like staying alone in their home, where unhappy memories lingered around every corner. 

But she wasn’t thinking about all of that right now. As Archie, her boyfriend, did push-ups along the floor next to the bed, she quizzed herself out loud, a team-style review system that they had found worked for them in the past. 

“Archie?” called a voice from downstairs. Veronica and Archie looked at each other. “Coming, Dad,” Archie called back, hurrying out of the room. In his absence, Veronica checked the time, then tucked her notes into her purse, picking it up and following the path that her boyfriend had just taken.

Downstairs, Archie stood still, his silhouette outlining the entrance to the dining room. “Mom?” he said, awestruck. “Hello, Archie,” his mother replied, smiling, before walking over to hug him. “What are you doing here?” he asked, a smile appearing on his own face. “Well, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see you off for your last eleventh grade final.” She paused, looking over at her ex-husband. “Just think, Fred,” she said, “next year at this time, he’ll be off to college.”

“Time flies,” Fred Andrews said, grinning proudly at his son. “Well, as long as he doesn’t fail his exams,” he said, clearly joking. “You prepared, son?”

Everyone laughed, and Archie grinned back at his father. “I think so, Dad,” he replied. “We reviewed all the material again this morning,” Veronica chimed in. After a moment, Archie’s mother spoke. “Well, we won’t keep you. Would you like a ride to school?” The two teenagers nodded, and headed out the back door with Mary, to the garage.

* * *

#### Afternoon

Several hours later, and some miles southeast, where the houses ended and the highways began, a black 1967 Chevy Impala was entering the town’s boundaries. In the passenger seat of the car, Sam Winchester spoke. “‘Riverdale’,” he said slowly, reading the welcome sign out loud. “‘The town with pep’. Does that sound familiar to you?” he asked the driver, his brother Dean.

“Yes,” a gravelly voice spoke up from the backseat of the car, belonging to a figure who hadn’t been there ten seconds ago. Both brothers jumped, and the car swerved wildly, quickly stopping as the two men pulled out guns, aiming both at the back, only to relax a moment later.

“Castiel,” Dean groaned. “Come on, man, how many times do we gotta tell you not to creep up on us like that?”

“I apologize, Dean,” the figure said, his voice completely monotone. “I know this town well, and so I may be of assistance to you here.” 

There was a pause, as the group of three took in their surroundings. “Seriously,” Sam said after a moment, as he pondered the dark skies, and the greenery framing both sides of the highway. “We’ve been here before. I just can’t place when.”

“We’ve been to many places, Sammy,” his brother replied. “Kinda part of the job.” He started the vehicle and began driving again, and the three sat in silence for some time.

* * *

As it happened, neither Betty, Archie, Veronica, nor Jughead, need have worried about the final. All found it to be surprisingly easy, and they decided to walk over to Pop’s Diner, to celebrate the end of exams over milkshakes. As they walked, they began to talk about their upcoming summer break.

“Come on, people. We have to spend at least _one_ afternoon at Sweetwater River,” Veronica said. “Enough time has passed that it’s socially acceptable, and from what Betty’s told me, it’s beautiful in the summertime. A perfect place for a picnic, where we’ll conspire on how we should spend senior year,” she said. 

“Hold on, now,” Jughead said, having noticed the slight look of distress that had just crossed over Betty’s face. “No one’s _conspiring_ , Lodge.” Veronica quickly realized her mistake—her casual choice of wording had no doubt reminded Betty of the reason for her father’s recent arrest. “Sorry, Bets,” she said. “I just meant that since we’re going to be ruling Riverdale High next year, we might as well get a step ahead and start, hmm, _planning_ how. Can’t rely on the Student Council thing alone.”

Betty gave Veronica a sly grin, although Veronica didn’t miss the look of gratitude in her eyes. “Sounds like a plan,” she said.

* * *

In the Impala, Dean’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh, shit,” he exclaimed suddenly. “Sam, you were right, we _have_ been here before.”

“When?” his brother, and Castiel, asked simultaneously.

“Do you remember, about a year ago, how we went to that diner, and everything was… _weird_? It was right after we escaped the Trickster’s time loop,” Dean added, and his brother’s eyes lit up. “Right, and those two teenage girls were having a conversation that was straight out of a soap opera, except it was real,” Sam replied, just as his stomach made a loud growl. “Well, I guess we’re going back to that diner,” Sam said. “From what I remember, they make a great green salad. Really phenomenal vinaigrette.”

“You _would_ remember the _salad_ ,” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. “But it has been a while since we stopped to eat. Ah, perfect timing,” he said, as the diner came into view. “And there’s space right in front of the diner, too. Excellent,” he added, a satisfied grin on his face as he said these words. After making rather a show out of parking the car and turning off the engine, he turned, and noticed that his brother and Castiel were staring at him. 

“What?” he asked, startled. “Best to have one eye on your meal, and the other on your car. You never know when someone might try to steal this beauty.”

There was a pause. “You know,” Castiel piped up, “I could just tell you when that’s happening.”

* * *

“Look who just walked in,” Jughead commented to the other three from his seat in their booth, raising his eyebrows. “Cheryl Blossom and Toni Topaz.”

“Choni confirmed?” Veronica inquired excitedly, swivelling in her seat to peer over her shoulder, at the door. Archie, who was seated next to her, turned his head as well. In response, Betty’s eyes widened. “Stop, we can’t all look!” she whispered, quickly averting her eyes to her strawberry milkshake.

“Looks like they’re headed to a booth on the other side of the diner from us,” Archie observed. At this, a satisfied smile appeared on Veronica’s face. “ _Choni confirmed_ ,” she declared, turning her head back around and relaxing into her seat. “Well, no kidding,” Betty murmured. “Didn’t you see the way they acted around each other, when we were in rehearsals for _Carrie_?” She paused, taking in the shocked expressions on her friends’ faces. “It’s okay,” she said reassuringly. “We can acknowledge it. I don’t mind.” 

Sliding an arm around Betty’s shoulders, Jughead spoke up. “I did notice that Toni seemed quite protective of Cheryl, particularly when…the role got recast,” he said hesitantly, and Betty nodded. “Agreed,” she said.

“Well, I’m glad it worked out for them,” Veronica said decisively, smiling and raising her eyebrows in the way that she often did when she was making a concluding remark on a topic.

* * *

“So, Castiel, where you been? Haven’t seen you for a few days,” Dean asked, as the three men stepped out of his car. At this, the angel cleared his throat. “I can’t tell you that, Dean,” he replied, before hesitating and then adding, “I suppose it doesn’t hurt to tell you that I’ve been travelling, but…it looks as though I’ll be staying within the United States for now.” He said this in a rather stilted way, but the brothers simply nodded, each wearing identical expressions of contemplation as they mulled over this information.

“Well, it doesn’t look as though much has changed since the last time we were here,” Sam remarked, looking around the diner as he opened the door for the other two. “Even those teenagers in the corner booth are the same ones we saw the last time…although the blonde one’s with them this time.” Dean didn’t reply to this, as he was a bit caught off guard. The moment he’d walked into the diner, he’d locked eyes with none other than Cheryl Blossom, who smiled cheerfully at him—a completely different reaction than the glare she’d given him and Sam the last time. “Counter area again?” Sam asked Dean, as he scanned the area. “Uhh, sure,” his brother replied distractedly, tearing his eyes away from the face that had been icy the last time he’d seen it.

“This is eerie,” Dean commented, as they walked towards the same seats that they’d sat in the last time, and he and Jughead made eye contact. “Everyone who was here the last time we were is here again, _and_ it’s raining outside again.”

“Hardly newsworthy, Dean,” Sam replied, sitting down. “This is a small town, so lots of people probably come here for a good time, and this climate is…well, actually, it’s the same as everywhere we go,” he added, starting a little at this realization. As if on cue, the rain increased in intensity.

At the booth, Jughead frowned slightly as he recognized the two men, now accompanied by a third, whom he did not recognize. But he wasn’t distracted for long, for at that moment, Betty said, “So…I suppose it’s time for us to start thinking about our plans for after high school. Graduation is just a year away, after all.” In response, Jughead and Archie made panicked eye contact, while Veronica replied, “I agree, Bets. I’ve been looking at universities myself, and programs. I’ve decided on a business degree, most likely at ASU, although I’m certainly going to apply to some Ivy League schools as well.”

Sam, hearing this, gave Dean a look. “See? Does that sound eerie to you? A bunch of teenagers talking about school. That _is_ normal teenage behaviour, you know,” he said. He turned his eyes back to the teenagers, and immediately locked eyes with the blonde. Quickly, he looked back at Dean.

“I guess,” Dean replied, slowly. “Still. Something about this place is off. Castiel, did you say you’d been here before?”

“I have,” the third replied, “several years ago.” As he spoke, Sam noticed that he looked very tense, and seemed to be searching the diner, his eyes combing over every surface, poster, and face. “Decades, actually. Back when _his_ grandfather,” here, Castiel nodded at Pop, the owner, “was running the diner. Used to be called the ‘Chocklit Shoppe’, but he changed the name, officially, when he took over.” Immediately after saying this, his eyes narrowed, his already rigid posture stiffened, and he disappeared before the brothers’ eyes.

“I’ve told him to stop doing that in public,” Dean mumbled, quickly checking that no one had seen, as Veronica walked by the counter on her way to the washroom.

“Did he look unsettled to you?” Sam replied, looking at the spot where the angel had just been sitting.

“Dude, he _always_ looks unsettled,” Dean retorted. “Seriously. You’d think he were a mafia boss by the way he’s always suspicious of everything.” 

* * *

In the washroom, Veronica stepped out of her stall and over to the sinks, next to someone that she hadn’t met before. As she washed her hands, she looked sidelong at the person, a young woman about her age, applying lipstick in a shade that Cheryl Blossom would be proud of. She wore a white ruffled blouse, a blazer that matched her lip colour perfectly, and modest heels, somehow managing to pull off a pair of (designer) jeans with this look. Slung over her shoulder was a bag that Veronica recognized as being from a shop that she’d frequented back in her days in New York City. Knowing that this shop had been a very small business—one of her secrets back in New York, really—Veronica thought about asking the young woman whether she was also from the East Coast.

But she didn’t get a chance, for all of a sudden, the stranger stopped what she was doing, looked right into her eyes through the mirror, and spoke. “No, actually,” she said lightly, giving Veronica a small smile. Veronica started. “I’m sorry?” she asked, and the stranger turned to look directly at her. “Oh,” she said softly, somehow managing to look extremely bashful and blazingly confident at the same time, “I saw you looking at me, and I assumed that you were wondering if I were dressed up for something,” she explained. 

“I do admire your colour coordination,” Veronica replied coolly, gesturing towards the other’s blazer, and the lipstick that was now resting on the sink. The stranger laughed. “Yes, I went a little all-out today,” she said, flashing a brilliant smile. “I like to look sharp, even if there’s no occasion. I find it leads to increased confidence, and more respect from others.”

“Absolutely,” Veronica said immediately. “No deals can ever be made if you don’t look sharp.” At this, the woman’s expression changed just slightly; she stared at Veronica, a small frown appearing on her face for just a moment, before she seemed to catch herself. “Exactly,” she responded, smiling a little and turning back to the mirror for one final check, before beginning to pack up her things.

Seeing this, Veronica hesitated, then went forward with what was on her mind. “This might seem like a strange question, but where did you get your bag?” Hearing this, the stranger looked at it for a moment. “Honestly, I don’t remember, even though it’s one of my favourites,” she said. “Why do you ask?” she added, her eyes fixing on Veronica’s intensely. “It looks exactly like a bag that was in the window of a store I used to go to all the time, back when I lived in New York City. It was in the window for about a year…in fact, I think it might have been there when I left.” In response, the stranger’s face flooded with something like relief, and she grinned at Veronica. “A fellow New Yorker. How about that? You can exit the city physically, but you never really _leave_ ,” she said. “What brought you to this town?” she asked. “Parental relocation,” Veronica replied, her tone even. “Yourself?” The woman hesitated, then opened her mouth.

But she never got to reply, for at that moment there was a roaring crash sound, and the room was thrown into darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few seconds after Pop's Diner is thrown into darkness, one of the restaurant's patrons makes a shocking discovery.

# Chapter Three

#### Moments Later

“ _Definitely_ straight out of a soap opera,” Sam groaned, setting his fork down. At the counter, Pop Tate quickly raised his hands in a reassuring gesture, calling out to the diner. “Don’t worry, folks, it’s likely just a power outage from the storm. Sit tight, we’ll get some lights for you all.”

“Except that it’s never ‘just a power outage’, when we’re around,” Sam grumbled wearily, looking around the diner, his previously relaxed expression now filled with suspicion, as the servers began bringing candles to the tables. Dean eyed the staff, quickly checking for dark eyes or awkward movements, before shrugging it off and returning to the last few bites of his meal. “Look, I really don’t think it’s a big deal. These sorts of things do happen, you know.”

“Do they, though?” Sam replied skeptically. “Sam,” Dean said, in a rather patronizing tone, “ _Castiel_ was just here. He woulda told us if something were off.” 

The younger brother sighed, clearly not convinced. “I suppose,” he said. “It’s just…this _town_ , you know? I’d like to get out of here as fast as possible.”

Dean nodded. “This _is_ one helluva weird town. So why don’t I go and get the car ready, and you get the bill?” he said, standing up, and making his way towards the door.

Sam rolled his eyes.

* * *

Over at the booth, Betty got up. “I guess this is as good a time as ever to pay for our meals,” she said to the two guys. “You two stay here. This one’s on me.”

“No way, Betty,” Archie replied insistently, moving to get up. But Betty held out her hand to stop him. “My father tried to kill yours, and my brother-who-wasn’t-my-brother, whom I tracked down and brought into my home, made Jug an accomplice to murder. It’s the least I can do,” she said firmly, turning and walking towards the counter. Jughead watched her leave, a slight frown on his face, but was quickly distracted by the sound of yelling. He looked through the windows to the front of the diner. Outside, one of the two familiar-looking men was shouting obscenities, and gesturing furiously at what appeared to be a very, _very_ smashed-up black car. ( _Was_ it black? Jughead could hardly tell through the damage.)

* * *

“ _What the fuck!_ ” Dean shouted, kicking the curb. “What is it?” Sam asked, quickly hurrying over from the entrance doors, over to his brother. “The Impala is _wrecked_ ,” Dean said, a shocked, angry expression on his face. Upon looking at the car and seeing the damage, Sam’s mouth dropped open. 

It appeared as though someone had used multiple tools to smash, bend, burn and scratch every inch of the beautiful vintage car, turning it into a pile of distorted metal that only vaguely resembled a method of transportation. Sam peered into the hood—the contents within had not been spared, either.

“Someone did this deliberately,” Dean whispered, looking devastated. He looked over at his brother. “How did this happen?” he asked. “This level of damage takes hours, and we were sitting within view of the car…” Sam just shook his head, bemused. “No idea, man. This is inexplicable.” 

But Dean had already moved on from that thought, and was now pacing around the car in agony. “It’ll take me _days_ to fix this damage,” he croaked. “You know what that means, Sam,” he said resignedly. “We’re staying in town. And don’t even think about suggesting a mechanic,” he added, seeing the look on his brother’s face. “After _this_ , I’m not trusting anyone here. I’m fixing this all on my own.” He paused, then roared, “ _Castiel!_ ”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The following morning, Veronica texts with the teen that she met in the diner, while Betty grapples with the ramifications of her fathers' actions. On the other side of town, Sam and Dean realize that their presence in Riverdale has a greater significance than they previously thought.

# Chapter Four

## Friday

#### Morning

The following morning, Veronica awoke to the sound of rain against her window. She sat up, stretching and yawning loudly, the way she only ever did when she knew she was alone, and didn’t have to maintain the posture that revealed her upper-class upbringing. 

_Ping._ Her phone chimed, so she glanced over at it.

_Unknown to Veronica: Hi!_

Veronica frowned, looking a little closer. This number wasn’t in her contacts.

_Ping._

_Unknown to Veronica: It’s Willow. :)_

A smile broke out over Veronica’s face. Willow was the well-dressed teen she’d met in the diner. After the power outage, Veronica had invited her back to the booth that she and her friends were in. Although Jughead, Archie, and Betty had had to leave, Veronica and Willow had sat in the booth for several hours, getting to know each other. Turned out, Willow had finished finals a bit earlier than they had, and was now on a road trip to California with her parents. When the storm began, Willow and her family had decided to seek shelter in the diner, and had registered to stay in the Riverdale Inn for a few days until it passed. Ever the socialite, Veronica had given her her number, so that she had a friend to spend time with if she got bored. “If anything,” she’d said at the time, “I’m throwing an end-of-school-year party on Saturday, and you are welcome to come, if you’re still in town.”

_Ping._

_Willow to Veronica: My parents want to check out the museum._

_Ping._

_Willow to Veronica: Want to get a bite to eat after? Dinner?_

At this, Veronica grinned. _I’d love to,_ she replied, and the two soon agreed to meet at Pop’s at six-thirty. After checking with Willow, Veronica also texted Betty, asking if she’d like to join them.

Then, she fell back asleep, blissful in the knowledge that there was no studying to be done.

* * *

Betty woke up several hours later than Veronica, something that was highly unusual for her. She tended to like early mornings—being alert before most of the town was awake.

Yet with all the stress of finals, plus the even more stressful goings-on within her personal life, she’d realized that it was high time she take a day or two to just rest. So last night, she’d turned off her phone, hadn’t set an alarm for the morning, and had left the latest instalment from her current favourite book series (it had just happened to become available at the library the week before finals were over—talk about luck!), which she hadn’t yet opened, on her nightstand, with the intention of reading a good chunk of it in the morning. She opened her eyes languidly, raising her eyebrows a little upon seeing the late morning hour displayed on her alarm clock. 

_Actually, who cares?_ she thought a moment later, rolling over to pick up her book. Downstairs, she heard the sound of a baby crying.

Oh, yes. Polly’s twins. Her older sister had recently arrived back in town after some time away, and had moved back into the Cooper residence, bringing with her her own infant son and daughter, Dagwood and Juniper. Normally, Betty would have been the first one out of bed, rushing downstairs to see if she could help. Today, though? Nope, she thought, opening her novel, as thunder crackled above her house. Polly’s kids are not my problem.

_‘Polly’s kids are not your problem?’ Now, that’s something that_ Dad _would think._

The snide comment, courtesy of her own guilty conscience, flew into Betty’s thoughts like a rock through a window, instantly shattering her relaxed mood.

* * *

Around the same time that Betty was waking up, Dean was hard at work on the Impala, where he’d been since before Veronica had initially woken up. “ _Damn it!_ ” he swore softly, sliding out from underneath the car, and setting his wrench down. “Whoever did this messed her up good, outside and inside.” He tipped his head back and groaned in frustration.

After Dean had called for him, Castiel had appeared almost instantaneously. Upon seeing the extensive damage that the car had sustained, his eyebrows had shot up and something resembling shock crossed his face, even though he was usually a rather stoic man. In fact, until now, neither Winchester brother had ever seen him act surprised about anything. He’d agreed to teleport the two brothers and the car to an abandoned shack, where Dean could work on it undisturbed. Then, in an uncharacteristic show of generosity, he’d also supplied Dean with a new set of tools and spare tires, before disappearing mysteriously, as he generally always did.

Sighing, Dean took a brief moment to look over at his brother, who was at that point engrossed in a book that he’d found in the shack this morning, a travel guide for the region of the country that they were currently in. “Sam,” he said, “that’s gotta be the most boring-looking book I’ve ever seen.”

“Just trying to learn more about this area,” Sam mumbled, turning the page. “I’m surprised we haven’t heard of it before, to be honest, given all the weird things that seem to always happen here.” He paused, then spoke again. “I think you’re right, man. There _is_ something off about this place. I mean…did you notice the way that Castiel reacted to this town? He definitely knows something that he’s not letting on. In fact, I have a feeling he’s been here way more recently than ‘several decades ago’.” At this last part, he lowered his voice slightly, mimicking the angel’s gravelly tone.

“Look, man, I get that you trust him and all,” Sam continued, seeing that Dean was about to say something, “but you have to admit that we haven’t known him for long, and there’s a lot we don’t know about him, or about the so-called ‘Plan’.”

They had met Castiel about six months previously (about four months after Dean had died, having been ripped to Hell by its hounds in a way that had seemed permanent, at the time, and about a week after he’d been inexplicably resurrected) and had subsequently learned that Castiel not only had pulled Dean from Hell and back to life, but also was an actual angel—a sent-from-God angel. 

They hadn’t gotten to know him well at all yet, but from what they had learned so far, as far as personality went, Castiel’s was all right. Sam didn’t trust him as much as Dean did, mainly because they hadn’t known him for long enough to get a real handle on who he was. Of course, there was also the fact that he tended to always pop in on them when they were least expecting it, and that he tended to act very mysteriously, something that Sam had long ago learned was always a warning sign. 

For the last month or so, Castiel had been dropping clues about a “Plan”—a divine Plan, that was—which he apparently knew all about. (From what Sam could tell, the guy seemed to be on quite good terms with God.) And yet, whenever this “Plan” came up in conversation, he only gave the slightest hints, and would clam up when they pressed him for details. 

Whenever Sam would ask him why he bothered mentioning anything from this “Plan” at all, if he were going to be so secretive about it, Castiel would get a slightly smug look on his face, and say something about not being “at liberty to speak further”. 

While Castiel may not have been Sam’s favourite person—and he figured that he was reasonably justified in that opinion, although it wasn’t one that he voiced to Dean—his older brother seemed to like him well enough, and besides, when he really thought about it, Sam had to admit that the guy was quite intelligent and insightful, always had good hunt-related advice when they really needed it, and—to be completely honest—had saved both of their lives more than once, even outside of having pulled Dean from Hell.

“You know,” Sam said now, as a thought occurred to him, “your car getting wrecked like that, leaving us stranded here…well, it doesn’t happen every day, that’s for sure. It’s gotta be significant. I bet it has something to do with the ‘Plan’. It must.” 

And then, he had another realization. “Maybe Castiel has been bringing it up so often because we’re supposed to be a part of it. I bet that’s why Castiel is always hinting at the ‘Plan’. He’s been preparing us for direct involvement. And it’s starting now, taking place here, in this town.”

“Correct, Samuel,” the gravelly voice said. 

The brothers flinched (somehow, they never expected it), then looked towards the corner of the room, where the angel had appeared.

* * *

At the front door, Betty pulled on her jacket and walking shoes, sighing. No matter how many times people reassured her that she wasn’t to blame for her father’s actions, the feeling that she was _just like him_ wouldn’t go away. She’d tried eating breakfast, spending time with Polly and the twins, and listening to music, all to no avail. 

Fine. Maybe she could walk it off.

The storm had lessened considerably since yesterday, and now there was only a mist of rain falling, the outside temperature mild. She decided to walk into town with her novel—this would take a good forty-five minutes, an hour if she walked slow—and sit down at the local library, or maybe at the twenty-four hour café downtown (as much as she loved Pop’s, she did like to take a break from strawberry milkshakes once in a while) to read it.

She stepped outside, enjoying the fresh-rain smell of the air, and set off at a brisk pace.

* * *

“You are correct in guessing that the two of you are meant to be ‘cast members’, so to speak, in my Father’s Plan to aid humanity,” Castiel said, nodding at Sam. The brothers looked at each other. “So…is there anything that we should know?” Sam asked. Dean nodded.

“I cannot tell you that,” Castiel replied, the smug expression returning once again. “I _can_ tell you, however, that you already have everything that you need. So, do not worry.”

“Well, Cass, that’s like saying ‘here’s a smashed-up car and everything you need to fix it, now start’,” Dean retorted, giving a devastated groan at the end of his sentence, and sliding back under the car. Castiel’s eyes stayed on the car for a moment. Sam caught an unfamiliar expression on Castiel’s face--something resembling guilt--but it was only there for a moment, so he couldn’t tell for sure what it was.

“So you can’t tell us about the ‘Plan’, fine,” Sam said, sighing. “Anything you can tell us about Riverdale? You seemed pretty familiar with the town, when we were sitting in the diner yesterday,” he said. As he spoke, he tried to lock eyes with the angel and stare him down. 

But Castiel was as evasive as ever. “What is there to tell?” he replied, his tone carefully neutral, not looking either brother in the eye. “It’s a town like any other…and as I said, everything you need to know, you already do.” And with that, he disappeared.

Sam sat there for a moment, mulling over the conversation. So the “Plan” had something to do with Riverdale—that much was obvious. And he and Dean had a role to play in it. Well, that sounds like every hunt we’ve ever done, he thought. He looked outdoors, noticing for the first time that the rain had lessened. “I’m going to take a walk into town,” he told Dean. “I’ll pick up some food on my way back. Sound good?” 

A pause. “Whatever,” Dean eventually said from underneath the car. It seemed as though he weren’t going to say anything further, but Sam waited. 

And waited.

Finally, Dean spoke again. “Just don’t forget my pie.” At this, relief coursed through Sam. So the car’s being wrecked hadn’t rattled his brother too badly, then.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the library, Betty has an strange encounter with an unfamiliar patron.

# Chapter Five

#### Afternoon

As it turned out, the library was exactly the kind of environment that Betty needed to soothe her whirlwind of negative thoughts. As soon as she’d stepped into the building, she’d felt the tension in her muscles lessen considerably, a sensation that had increased when she’d found her favourite armchair unoccupied. This armchair was located on the west side of the first floor of the library; there were three, altogether. The second was a quiet study area, and the basement area, accessible via the east staircase and visible from the first floor, was the kids’ section. The walls next to her were all glass, and because the library was in an elevated area of the town, she had quite a nice view; from here, she could see her school, Pop’s Diner, and her neighbourhood as well. The natural light was fantastic for reading and relaxing. Even though an armchair wasn’t the most ideal place to do homework, she’d actually bought a lap desk this past school year, and frequently took it here to work on her various assignments. She was close enough to the front doors that the air where she was sitting wasn’t too stuffy, but it was never cold either. Over the last several hours, Betty hadn’t looked up from her book once, too absorbed in the lives of her novel’s characters; right now, though, she was beginning to become more aware of her surroundings. 

Sounds were the first thing that she registered. She began to recognize the general white noise of the library; the quiet turning of the wheels on the librarians’ carts, and the hushed chatter of the guests, some of whom walked by her spot on their way to their books. The meaning of their words began to register, and even as she kept her eyes on her book, she became aware of what had brought some of said guests to the building in the first place. She realized that it must be past four o’clock, for she could hear the faint sound of of this week’s guest author, reading to the younger patrons in the basement.

The next things that Betty became aware of were internal concerns. For one thing, she was hungry. After all, she hadn’t eaten since the bowl of cereal she’d munched on at around eleven thirty. Additionally, her head felt fine; despite hours of reading, she didn’t have a headache. In fact, her body felt very relaxed, although the tension that had been in her was still there in her mind, simmering under the surface of her calmness. She realized that she needed to use the washroom. Finally, she looked up from her book. 

The library was somewhat busier than it had been when she came in. Fairly typical, for mid-afternoon on a weekday. _Lots of kids here today,_ she thought, hearing the many voices downstairs, laughing at something that the guest author had said. Realizing that she’d never turned her phone on this morning, Betty went to do that, making sure it was on silent, and that none of her friends were suddenly having crises that needed to be attended to. (The teens of Riverdale led interesting lives.) After she’d replied to a text from Veronica, she put her phone away, and sat back in her seat for a moment, taking in her surroundings once again.

Just then, the front doors opened, and a somewhat familiar-looking man came striding into the building. He was very tall and lean, with angular features, and he seemed to also recognize her, for he looked at her thoughtfully, his eyebrows drawing together. They nodded at each other, and he gave her a small wave as he picked up a basket. He headed straight for the _History and Anthropology_ section, on the east side of the library, and she wondered for a moment if he was a student at Aguirre-Sacasa University, the postsecondary institute one town over. _If he’s a student, wouldn’t I have seen him before?_ she thought. She came to the library often enough, and at varied enough hours, that she could recognize the students even when they weren’t wearing ASU gear. Yet although she definitely recognized him, she knew it wasn’t from having seen him here.

But she quickly forgot about this, for at that moment, one of the librarians (a newer person, possibly an intern?), who happened to be walking by Betty’s spot and pushing a cart, paused, and turned back. “Excuse me,” she said softly. Betty turned her head. “Yes?” she asked.

“The book that you’re reading,” she said. “Took me a minute, but I recognized it. I read that series a while back, and really enjoyed it. Which one are you on?”

Betty showed her the cover. The librarian gave a thoughtful look, clearly trying to remember which one it was. Betty gave her the book, so that she could read the summary. “Oh, yes!” the librarian exclaimed, in hushed tones. “I liked this one. You get a lot of backstory. I like when the author really focuses on the secondary characters.” Betty grinned. “I agree,” she said. “Besides, I really like his character.”

“Yeah, I like him, too,” the librarian replied. “I didn’t like him that much at first, to be honest…but you’ll learn more about him.” She winked. “Now I’m remembering how much I liked this series. I’ll have to reread it sometime soon.”

“I definitely will,” Betty agreed. “Well, I have to get back to work,” the librarian said, smiling. “You enjoy.” Betty nodded, and the librarian continued on her way. She sat there for a few moments, then got up to go to the bathroom. _I might as well head home,_ she thought, _after I’ve picked out a couple more books to read, since I’ll probably finish this one soon._

* * *

In the _History and Anthropology_ aisle, Sam tossed several titles on the history of the town into his basket. He’d come to the library hoping to find out a bit about the town; he figured it was a good idea to have an understanding of it, as it might prepare him and Dean for whatever their roles in the “Plan’’ involved. Based on the signs he’d encountered when he’d first walked in, he now knew that there was a quiet study area upstairs, and he planned to spend several hours up there, learning about the area. 

The first title he selected was an extensive-looking volume on the town’s historical roots; the second, a chronology of the town’s crime history. A few moments after he ducked into the _Local Interest_ aisle to try and find a third selection, the blonde that he’d seen in the diner—with the redheaded girl the first time, and the larger group of teens the second—walked right into the aisle. Upon seeing his face, she started. “Um, hi,” she said. He nodded at her. “Hey,” he replied.

She smiled awkwardly, and continued past him, to the washroom next to the aisle. Sam turned around, and began looking at the contents of the shelf behind him, an assortment of multimedia news publications, both local and a few from what he assumed were nearby towns. After a few minutes of browsing, he took a closer look at one particular newspaper, _The Riverdale Register._ Flipping through a few copies from recent years, he started when he recognized the redhead from the diner on one of the covers. _“Cheryl Blossom Guilty as Sin!”_ read the headline. _Weird,_ Sam thought.

“Hey,” said a voice from down the aisle, and Sam turned. Standing there was the blonde.

* * *

_Seriously—who_ is _this guy?_ Betty wondered. She’d come out of the washroom to find the strange man flipping through _The Register,_ not unusual in itself except for the fact that he was now staring at the headline that had blasted Cheryl Blossom a couple of years ago. An incendiary choice of reading. Her earlier questions about who he was came back to her.

And yet, she might not have even said anything, had a certain intuition not been strong inside of her: that this man, whom she’d never seen before yesterday, was trying to find out everything he could about the town. This set off alarm bells in Betty’s mind, for there were only a few reasons why this could be, and all of them had to do with her father’s recent misdeeds.

But instead of criticizing him, or trying to put him on the defensive, she felt her investigative instincts kick in. In an instant, she decided to find out as much as she could about him. “Can I help you find something?” she asked, straightening her posture, and using the authoritative voice that had gotten her the editor-in-chief position with _The Blue and Gold,_ Riverdale High’s newspaper. “Uh, sure,” the guy said, nodding. It was as though he was used to this sort of interaction. 

_Interesting,_ Betty thought.

“I’m looking to find out about Riverdale’s history,” the guy said. “Particularly, uh, crime history.” Betty nodded, glancing at the two titles that he’d already picked up. _A Brief History of Riverdale,_ by Devon Turner, and _Riverdale: An Anthology of Crime from the 1950s to the 21st Century,_ by Britta Lundin. 

_Huh._

“What time period are you looking for?” she asked him. “Right now, I’m looking for something more recent,” the man replied, gesturing at the newspapers next to him.

Betty nodded. “I guessed as much,” she replied. “Well, _The Register_ is a fantastic source of information about the goings-on of the town, but it is written for a local audience. There’s a lot of citizen-specific context that you have to know about in order to truly understand each of its articles.” She paused, watching the man’s response. “Oh,” he said. “Guess that won’t work, then.” Betty took a moment, then decided to press on with finding out what she really wanted to know. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here?” she asked. “No, I’m not,” the guy replied, his tone suddenly becoming evasive, “just…working on a project.” 

_Student, after all?_

“I’m quite well-versed with the university databases, if you’re interested in finding something through there…” she began. To be fair, this statement _was_ true; because she was the editor-in-chief for _The Blue and Gold,_ as well as an assistant at _The Register,_ which her parents—her mother, that was, now—ran, she had gotten special clearance to access those databases. Of course, that wasn’t the real reason she’d asked if he was interested in using them.

But the guy shook his head. “I’m not a student,” he said, confirming Betty’s suspicions. “It’s for work,” he added simply, now thumbing through the other newspapers.

_Work?_

“Oh, I see,” Betty said. (She didn’t see.) “Well then, that’s not a problem. I suppose if you read several volumes of _The Register,_ especially if they span over a longer period of time, you should be all right…it’s generally the same names popping up, anyway. You’ll get the gist of it.” She picked up a few specific issues, spanning from the 1990s to last month, thinking hard as she did so.

_Historian? He looks a little young for that,_ she thought, as she handed over the papers.

“Also, might I suggest, if you’re looking for a general history book, going with something by James DeWille instead of Devon Turner? DeWille is a local, and tends to write more about the people of the town. Turner, on the other hand, has studied the town’s history, but his writing…”

_Journalist?_ she wondered. _Not local—from a big city? Caught on to the Black Hood story? Uh oh. That could really be it._

“…well, it doesn’t quite capture the culture here,” she continued. “It might make things easier, when it comes to picking up on the nuances of the local goings-on, to go with a DeWille,” she said, nodding at the copies of _The Register_ that now sat in the man’s basket. The guy nodded, glancing at her briefly, then looked over at the next aisle. “Uh, sure. That sounds great,” he said. “Thanks.” He paused. “Have you read these books?” he asked, gesturing at the ones in his basket. Betty shook her head. “Not these particular ones, no,” she said, “But I’ve done a lot of reading, myself, on the town’s history, _and_ its history of crime. I have read DeWille and Lundin, and I found both easy to read. Considerably more so than Turner.” She watched him closely, for his reaction to what she’d just said. He didn’t seem to take interest in her knowledge on the town’s crime history. 

_Not a journalist. So, the Black Hood hasn’t made waves outside of Riverdale yet, after all._ This filled her with relief, but at the same time, it left her at a dead end. She had no more ideas as to what his motivation was here. So, she decided to just ask. “What line of work are you in?” she asked. 

“F.B.I.,” the stranger replied immediately, his tone suddenly firm. As he pulled out an official-looking badge from the inside of his jacket, his gaze was steady on hers. 

_He’s lying._ Betty was certain.

* * *

In the split second that followed, Betty knew that she had to make a choice: to go along with what she knew to be a lie, or to confront him. 

Then, she had another realization. _Whoever he is, there’s no way that he’ll tell me why he’s really here._ She was certain about this, too. So, instead of coming up with what to say on the spot, she took another moment to think.

Bad idea. A small frown appeared on his face, and Betty realized that he was catching on to her suspicion of him. She quickly decided to say something that would buy herself some time. “What’s this all about?” she asked, pleased with how believably startled her voice sounded.

And it was as she spoke that she remembered where she’d seen him before. It was in the diner. _Of course._ He’d come in with someone else, a man around his age, just yesterday— _just yesterday!_ —and Betty had noticed that both men had been listening in on the conversation that she and her friends were having. She’d even made eye contact with this man at one point, she remembered now. 

And _then,_ to make matters even more interesting, the guy that this man had been with had gotten his car all smashed up. She remembered standing at the counter by the front doors, paying for her meal, and watching as the one guy went outside and saw the destroyed car. In fact, she’d noticed it before he did, while she'd been waiting to use the debit machine. It was a good thing she’d braced herself for his reaction—he had done a lot of very loud yelling.

_Criminals? On the run from the law?_

_…Could this man be a criminal?_

Betty considered this. _Evidence towards? Shifty behaviour, lied about his job—identity theft, or identification forgery. Gang-related? Smashed-up car. Explosive anger._

_Evidence against? Hmm…_

Deeply occupied with her thoughts, Betty realized too late that the man was saying something. “…out of the ordinary?” 

Betty blinked. “Pardon me?” she asked.

“To your knowledge, have there been any suspicious acts in this town over the last year, anything really out of the ordinary? Outside of the usual pattern of crime, I mean.”

As the meaning of his words registered in her mind, Betty felt shock pass over her face, and couldn’t help but allow a few seconds to go by while she stared at him. Without knowing it, he had just completely given away his lie. After all, if he were F.B.I., he would know all about the Black Hood’s recent reign of terror. 

She was definitely, undeniably, in the presence of a criminal—this could be the only logical explanation. 

_Not again,_ she thought.

And then, Betty had another realization, her most alarming one yet. _He must be very used to telling this lie, if he’s this confident about it._ This thought shocked her quite a bit, although she was determined not to show it. 

“Why are you asking?” she said simply, her voice hard, and the man’s eyes widened slightly.

* * *

Sam was astonished. The cover that always, _always_ worked, had gone wrong. The blonde’s eyes were narrowed, the intense energy that he’d first noticed in the diner a year ago now completely directed at him. Clearly, she did not believe his lie. Clearly, without realizing it, he’d made some kind of assumption in asking the questions that he had asked, and he’d assumed wrong.

And yet, he hadn’t made it this far as a hunter out of luck. He had a capacity for staying calm under pressure that was far beyond what even the most experienced police officers had. This was nothing. 

“I am not at liberty to say,” he said evenly, trying to buy himself time.

* * *

This had to be the strangest conversation that Betty had ever been a part of. And Betty had, just weeks ago, heard her father confess to several counts of murder and blackmail. 

Actually, she really felt as though she might be witnessing a crime right now, so that wasn’t an unfair comparison. 

* * *

Sam had messed up badly, he knew that. He had two options: to try to win the power battle by intimidating her, or to try to somehow salvage the situation.

* * *

“Please _do_ say,” Betty snapped. The rock-hard exterior, which she’d developed over the course of the year that she’d spent turning herself from the Black Hood’s pawn to his captor, was slipping over her like a glove, and she was so _tired_ of how familiar it felt. “Because I do not believe, for one _second,_ ” and she made sure to keep her voice down, saying this, for she suddenly had a feeling that she should give him one more chance to explain himself, “that you are F.B.I.” 

She lifted her chin as she said these words, to show that she wasn’t afraid. 

* * *

The blonde continued to stare Sam down, and actually took a step towards him. It was obvious to him that she wouldn’t drop this conversation, and that trying to intimidate her would be a very bad idea. Although she couldn’t have been older than seventeen, she was obviously very tough.

_Hold on,_ Sam suddenly thought.

* * *

_Is this a bad idea?_ Betty wondered, as she continued to stare at him, and watched as his expression changed, just slightly.

* * *

_She gave me the answer already,_ Sam realized. _She knows all about the town’s history with crime. She asked if I was familiar with the area, with the people here. She asked if I wanted to use the university databases. She asked what line of work I’m in. She’s been probing, trying to find out what brings me here. She’s on edge for some reason—reasonable to assume that she entered the interaction with a high level of suspicion towards me to begin with, for whatever reason…_

_...I asked her if anything recently had happened that was out of the ordinary, and that seems to have been what made her suspicious…_

And as the key piece of the puzzle fell into place, Sam nearly rolled his eyes at himself at how obvious it was. Thank God that Dean wasn’t around to see this blunder. 

_…Something_ has _happened recently. Something bad._

* * *

The man cleared his throat, his posture relaxing slightly. “I apologize for any confusion I may have caused you just now, ma’am,” he said, in a friendlier tone. “Let me rephrase what I said a moment ago. I asked if there had been any suspicious acts outside of the usual pattern of crime. I meant this quite literally. You are well-versed in this town’s crime history, and we are well-versed in, uh, _recent events._ ” He nodded at Betty, giving her a knowing look and lowering his voice just slightly at this last part, and chills went up her spine. 

_Wait—what?_ Betty thought. _Does he know about the Black Hood, after all?_

“What I was asking was if there’s anything we might have missed. We are, uh, investigating a matter that is not currently public knowledge.” He paused. “Have you noticed anything suspicious, that could not be explained as falling into the category of the recent criminal activity in this town?”

Processing this turn of events, which was either a _very_ good save, or an indicator of a sudden lapse in her own ability to distinguish between truth and lies (and she did suspect that it was the former), Betty took a moment to respond. “No, I can’t say that I have,” she said eventually.

“Are you certain?” The man was looking at her very intently, and in that moment, Betty saw the slightest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. _No, it was a save,_ she thought. _Brilliantly executed, but a save nonetheless._

She paused, and decided to pretend she’d believed his lie, after all. “No,” she said, faking a hesitant, uncertain tone. “As far as I know, everything has been resolved.”

* * *

Sam nodded slowly. _Does she believe me?_ He couldn’t tell. Usually, that didn’t mean anything good.

* * *

“If I can be of any further assistance to you, Mr…?” Betty started. “Reynolds,” the man replied. Betty nodded. “Mr. Reynolds, just let me know.”

“I will,” the man said. Against all of her instincts— _it’s a public place, you don’t have to worry_ —Betty turned her back on the man, and quite literally left the conversation.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected event occurs at the library, prompting big revelations for Betty and Sam. At the diner, Veronica gets to know Willow a little better.

# Chapter Six

She could tell he didn’t entirely believe that she’d bought his lie, and she knew that he would, in all likelihood, keep an eye on her for the next few minutes, to make sure that she wasn’t watching him. So, Betty focused on breathing normally, and made her way over to the _Fiction_ section, on the other side of the first floor. The moment she got there, she turned into an aisle, searching for him out of the corner of her eye. She resolved not to look directly at him for the next five to ten minutes, unless he left the building. 

Betty took a few moments to actually take in the summaries of the books she was standing in front of. After all, she had resolved to check one or two out today, and she needed to really look as though she’d forgotten the conversation. She could feel her curiosity spiking, her investigative journalist instincts snapping and crackling to life, at the same time that all kinds of questions and observations began flooding her mind.

_Who lies, that confidently, that openly—in a public place!—and with realistic-looking I.D., that they are from the F.B.I.? He appears to be mentally stable, from what I can tell; he carried on that conversation, didn’t make any statements indicating hallucinations, and the fact that he has the badge most likely rules out delusions of grandeur._

_Strangest of all, he was shocked when I didn’t believe him, although he hid it well. This means that he’s told the lie before, and it’s always worked._

_Why has he been telling this lie? What other sorts of questions has he asked?_

_What sorts of things have other people told him?_

As she looked around for new novels to take home, Betty’s thoughts remained on the strange man, and she began to watch him from her spot, hidden in the fiction aisle. He talked for several minutes with the librarian at the main desk ( _he’s getting a membership. So he’s definitely never been here before_ ), and then he checked out his books ( _he didn’t go for the DeWille. Well, that’s a shame_ ). She braced herself for him to leave. 

He left.

Betty sighed, disappointment coursing through her. Well, that was that. She put aside her thoughts of the stranger as best as she could, for the moment at least. This was easier than she would have thought, for the books in front of her were a great distraction. Seeing that the next book in the series she was currently reading was on the shelf right in front of her— _wait, is that actually it?…Yes, it is! Talk about luck!_ —she almost jumped for joy, and became quickly distracted in finding another novel to select, just in case she really got into the reading mood in the next couple of days.

Yet thoughts of the stranger never fully disappeared, and his face remained at the back of her mind.

* * *

It was only twenty minutes later, on his way towards Pop’s Diner, that Sam realized that he’d never switched out the Turner book for the DeWille.

“ _Damn_ it,” he said out loud. After a quick scan at the Turner book—completely unreadable, targeted at a PhD audience—he turned around and strode back towards the library.

* * *

Betty saw the man the moment he walked into the library, although he didn’t seem to notice her. Her entire body seemed to jolt to life, her heart pounding and her eyesight sharper. Had he come back for the DeWille? _I told you so,_ she thought, eyeing him as he went straight back into the _History and Anthropology_ aisle. And one thought arose clear in her mind. 

_I can’t let him get away._

* * *

Sam found a book by the author that the blonde had been talking about almost immediately. _History and Culture in Riverdale_ , by James DeWille. He skimmed through it, noting with relief that although it was a larger book than the Turner text, it seemed like a considerably lighter read. 

The moment he put the book into his basket, a shrieking ringing noise began to sound in the library—the fire alarms. Sighing, Sam set his basket down and headed to the main area of the library, where the librarians were guiding people to the parking lot outside the front doors. As he did so, he noticed the blonde teenager again, although she didn’t appear to see him. She was at the back of the library now, sliding her novel into her bag. As she stood up, she immediately got caught in the water coming from the ceiling sprinklers, which began working a few moments after the alarms started. She pulled a face, but didn’t seem too bothered. Gingerly, evading the rest of the spray, she began walking towards the front doors, and towards Sam as a result.

The rest of the patrons had mixed reactions to being sprayed with sprinkler water. In fact, some seemed quite bothered, and as Sam felt the familiar sensation of the hairs on the back of his neck standing, he realized that smoke was coming from one of the patrons, standing at the south end of the library, who was at this moment shrieking in anger. _There’s holy water in the sprinklers,_ he realized with a start, already walking towards said patron—no, demon.

About five seconds later, just as the demon’s facial features were close enough to remember later on, she took one look at Sam and charged away from him, towards the aisles. Sam began a full-on sprint, just barely avoiding colliding with the children who were coming up from the basement level, his athletic build allowing him to narrow in on the demon at a very fast pace. The demon, however, was crafty (they all were), and upon looking back and realizing that Sam was right behind her, attempted to duck into an aisle. 

Had it not been for the presence of the blonde, who was at that very moment exiting the aisle, the demon would likely have succeeded in escaping via the fire exit. As it was, the demon collided right into her.

To Sam’s astonishment, instead of screaming or running away from the demon, the blonde reacted exactly like a hunter would; after recovering from the initial collision, she tackled her without hesitation, pinning her arms behind her back, and managing to keep her struggling self from escaping from her grip. Even before Sam’s mind could catch up with what he was seeing, his mouth had already begun chanting the Latin exorcism verse. Presently, black smoke poured out of the demon’s mouth, disappearing through the ceiling vent.

The whole thing was over in less than three minutes.

* * *

Somehow, in all the chaos of the fire alarm and the sprinklers, no one else in the library seemed to realize what had just happened. Betty and the tall stranger helped the newly exorcised woman out of the building, each of her arms across one of their shoulders. Outside the library, they pulled her aside, and the stranger immediately began asking her a series of questions, clearly well-practiced, that seemed to be designed to gauge her ability to process her surroundings, as well as her understanding of what had happened to her.

Fortunately, the woman seemed to be doing relatively all right, considering, and after letting her call her partner, and staying with her until she got picked up, Betty found herself, once again, with all kinds of the questions for the man. All at once, she was far more, and far less, suspicious of him. However, this seemed to be the same for him. They stared at each other for a moment.

“Uh…” the man began. He seemed very unsure as to how to proceed with this conversation. “…Are you a hunter?”

“No,” Betty replied. Now that the danger had passed, her body was starting to react to what had just happened. Her hands were shaking a little, and her thoughts were jumping all over the place, so it took a moment for her to realize that he was looking at her expectantly. “I assume you’re wondering how I knew what was happening?” she asked. In response, the man nodded.

“It’s kind of silly,” she said, “but I’ve been reading a novel that has to do with some very similar topics. Demon possession, that sort of thing. I took one look at the smoke coming off of that woman’s arms and thought, ‘that’s holy water’. I guess I’m glad that that’s what was really going on. Would have looked weird if I’d just tackled her for no reason like that.” She laughed, a high-pitched, panicky-sounding laugh. _Calm down, Elizabeth,_ she told herself, forcing herself to take three deep breaths before she spoke again. The man just observed her.

“So,” she continued, her voice steadier. All of her earlier questions about him had returned, and she realized that the answer to all of them potentially lay in how he responded to the question she was about to ask. “I guess that stuff is real, then? Are you a hunter?”

“Yeah,” the man replied, rather wearily. Seemed like it wasn’t the first time he’d been asked that question. 

“Huh,” Betty answered, nodding her head at this. 

He looked closely at her. “For someone who just found out that the supernatural exists, you seem very calm,” he observed.

“I’ve had what you might call a turbulent year. This was nothing,” Betty replied dryly. “Besides,” she added, “I could tell that you’ve gotten that question a _lot_. So I wasn’t going to make a big deal of it.”

He chuckled, actually grinning at her. “I’m Sam.”

“Betty.”

“Nice to meet you, Betty.”

“Likewise.” After saying this, Betty got straight to the point. “Are you a hunter _and_ F.B.I.?” Sam shook his head immediately. “No,” he replied, “just a hunter. The ‘F.B.I.’ thing is a cover, for the kinds of questions I have to ask when I’m on a case.”

Betty nodded, relief coursing through her at the clarity that this answer had just given her. And then, she froze. “Wait, is that why you were in the library to begin with?” she asked. “Did you just solve a case?”

“With the demon back there? No,” Sam said, “although that would have made sense. That was just a weird, chance occurrence. I’m actually here for, uh, a separate case.” Betty nodded. “That’s why I was looking for information about the town earlier,” he explained. “I had planned to get that DeWille text, like you suggested earlier, but…” here, both looked back at the library, which now had a number of firemen in and around it, “…it looks as though that’s not going to happen. Damn it,” he cursed, then looked over at her. “Sorry.” 

Betty shook her head, shrugging this off. A thought had occurred to her. She quickly checked her watch, and saw that it was five thirty-nine; _perfect timing._ “Where are you headed?” she asked him. “Probably back into town,” Sam said uncertainly. “I’ve gotta pick up some food for my brother and myself soon anyway.” He paused. “Why?”

“I’m meeting some friends of mine at Pop’s Diner at six-thirty, and it’s about a forty-five minute walk. If you’d like, I could tell you what I know about the town on the way over. I actually do know quite a lot about the local crime history.”

Sam paused for a moment, thinking. Then, he nodded. “That would be great,” he said earnestly. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Betty replied, and they began the walk towards the diner. “So, is there any particular type of crime that you’re interested in hearing about? Or do you want me to tell you the full history that I know of?”

“Anything you can tell me helps,” Sam answered. Betty nodded. 

She started as far back as she possibly could—this being the late 1800s, although Sam seemed completely interested in information that was even _that_ dated—and talked at length about the history of the Serpents; explained, in great scientific detail, the various types of recreational drugs that had circulated over the years, eventually leading to the rise of Jingle Jangle usage, and its popularity among her own demographic; brought up various minor offences that she’d heard about, secondhand, from her friend Kevin Keller (son of Sheriff Keller); explained the complex history of crime and fraud taking place within the Blossom family; described the law-bending behaviours, and general intimidation of others, that characterized the Lodge family (although she made sure to put in more than a couple of favourable words about her friend Veronica); and finally, reluctantly, she narrated the events of the last two years, which began with the murder of Jason Blossom, and ended with the arrest of Harold “Hal” Cooper one month ago.

Sam was an attentive listener. Betty noticed that he would ask for clarification on even the most minor details, but never needed her to repeat anything. He didn’t take notes, and as she talked, she had an increasingly stronger suspicion that he didn’t need to—that he was quite intelligent, and remembered everything she said, possibly word-for-word. _Maybe he_ used _to be a university student._

“Thank you for explaining all of that, Betty,” Sam said sincerely, when they were about twenty minutes away from the diner. “No problem,” she replied. There was a pause. 

“If you don’t mind my asking, what sort of demon are you dealing with, with this case?” Betty asked. 

“I’m not actually sure yet. This case is a bit more ambiguous than most,” Sam began, hesitantly. “We—my brother and I—were passing through here yesterday, on our way elsewhere, and stopped here in town just for a bite to eat. It was at the diner, I don’t know if you remember, I think you were there—”

“I remember,” Betty said.

“—yeah, and weirdly enough, my brother’s car got completely wrecked while we were inside. Someone vandalized it. So while it gets fixed, it looks like we’re here. But in the time that we’ve been here, it’s seemed as though a, uh, case might be emerging here, too.”

“Hmm,” Betty replied. “That reminds me of…something,” she said, hesitantly. Sam looked at her, his expression curious, although she got the feeling that he wouldn’t press her for details. _What the heck,_ she thought. _Might as well explain._ “Okay, so, you know how I told you about the Jason Blossom murder, and the Black Hood?” Sam nodded. “I’m a reporter for _The Blue and Gold_ —the school newspaper—and I did some investigative-type work for it, having to do with those two cases.” She paused, realizing for the first time how that must sound to an outsider. “We don’t have a large police department here, and so I helped them out a bit. Anyway, what you said reminded me of that work; sometimes new leads would just come out of nowhere, you know?”

“Wait, you did _investigative work_ for the _police_?” Sam asked, visibly shocked. Betty nodded. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Betty answered, wearily. 

“Well, that makes sense, considering how inquisitive you are,” Sam observed. “That’s really impressive,” he added. “What kind of investigative work did you do?” 

She took a moment to respond, trying to figure out how to explain what she’d done over the course of the last year, and then ultimately decided to just go ahead and bluntly state the truth: “To put it simply, I was the one who identified and caught the Black Hood.” 

For a few moments, Sam said nothing, stunned. Then, he chuckled softly, causing Betty to look at him incredulously. His face immediately went serious again.

“I’m sorry,” he said solemnly. “I just…for the first time, I realized how people must feel when my brother and I tell them what we do for a living.” 

Betty’s face softened, and she laughed a little. For a few minutes, they walked in silence. “What’s that like?” she eventually asked. “Hunting demons, full-time?”

“It’s, uh, a unique lifestyle…” he said hesitantly. “I don’t really know how to describe it. I suppose it’s not unlike the investigative work that you’ve done. There is a lot of research involved. We get to know people—often entire communities—quite well over the course of a case, because we need to know everything about the people affected by the monster that we’re trying to eliminate, and of course we research everything there is to know about the monster as well. And then, there’s some physical work, too—running and fighting, that sort of thing—and I imagine that that may well be the same for you.”

“Is it difficult for you?” she asked him, after taking a moment to mull this over. “Getting closely involved in the lives of those whose cases you’re working on, and then leaving forever once it’s all resolved?”

“Sometimes,” Sam replied, nodding. “I remember, about a year ago, my brother had a hard time saying goodbye to one particular person. There was some history there…The worst part of the job is when we’re driving away, thinking that the case has been solved, and then one of us realizes that we missed something,” he replied, a faraway look on his face, clearly remembering a specific instance. Betty shuddered. “That does sound awful,” she replied. He nodded. “Yeah. Usually, though, it’s all right. The important thing is knowing that we did our jobs, you know?” At this, Betty nodded. For a block, they walked in silence.

And then, Sam drew in a sharp breath, as though he’d just thought of something. “I’m thinking about what you told me earlier, and I’m realizing that I didn’t ask you something. This Black Hood person—Hal Cooper. Did he have any family members? Anyone that might be angry at him?”

Betty nodded. “You could say that.” She sighed deeply. “He’s my father.”

* * *

Well, it had been nice while it lasted, talking to someone who didn’t know about Betty’s father’s tendencies towards murder and blackmail. Sam was now staring at her, visibly restraining his intense shock.

“The _real_ reason I didn’t act surprised earlier, when you told me that you were a hunter,” Betty said, “wasn’t because I was reading a book about demon possession. Although that was true,” she noted. “The reason I wasn’t surprised is because I’ve long suspected that that sort of thing was real.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asked. Betty sighed. A few moments passed before she said anything.

“I have…a _darkness,_ inside of me,” she replied, in a soft tone. “It influences my actions; it pushes me to act upon my angrier and more vengeful thoughts. It’s a darkness that my father also has, which compelled him to do all those things as the Black Hood. I’ve wondered many times, over the last year, and the last few months in particular, if the darkness were supernatural…if my father was possessed.” 

Sam felt his mind shift gears. “Could you describe this ‘darkness’ a bit more?” he asked. “When you experience it, for example, what’s that like?”

Betty sighed. “Look, just because I’ve wondered whether it had supernatural causes doesn’t mean I actually think it _has_ supernatural causes…even knowing what I know now,” she replied, nodding at Sam when she said this last part. But he gave her an insistent look. 

“Fine,” she said wearily. “Have you ever had a conversation with someone that didn’t go so well, and you got irrationally angry at them and wanted to do something terrible to them,” Betty began, “but then instead, you quickly realize that that would be wrong and immature, and you calm yourself down?” 

Sam nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

“When I experience my darkness,” Betty said, “it’s as though all of those angry and irrational thoughts that I’ve ever had in my _life_ come flooding back to me at once. It’s so overwhelming that I react physically to it. I have to restrain myself,” and here, she showed Sam the nail-shaped scars on her palms, where, on many occasions, she’d clenched her fists too tight. “But I really don’t think that it’s anything other than anger that’s more intense than what most people experience. Because…even when I’ve experienced my darkness most intensely, ultimately it’s been me who has chosen to act upon it, or to not. I am still in control when I’m experiencing it, and I know that my father is as well. I’ve chosen in the past not to be violent to people. Whereas, he interpreted those feelings as an excuse to _kill_ people.” 

Sam tried to think of something to say. Yet he didn’t have to, for she continued. “I wouldn’t be so worried if I knew other people who were like this. My father is the only one that I know of.” She paused. “I went to visit him in prison, after he was arrested, to say goodbye,” she said, and Sam nodded. “He kept telling me how I was the only one who understood him, how I was so _like_ him…how I would come back. I knew he didn’t mean just physically come back to the prison; he seemed—seems—convinced that I will _embrace_ the darkness, at some point. And so, I told him: ‘No more darkness. No more evil,’ and looking at what he had become, versus how I feel myself to be, I felt it was the right thing to say. But, I just have to wonder if I was right, you know?” She glanced at him, then forward again, a feeling of relief flooding her, for she’d finally expressed the thought that had been weighing on her so heavily. After a moment, Sam spoke.

“You’re worried that something will change,” Sam said. “You’re thinking that maybe something changed for him. That he used to resist it, like you are doing now, but that it overpowered him at some point. That a killer is what you will become.” 

Betty shrugged. “It is nice to imagine a world where I might be able to change my own destiny, definitively, through an exorcism or something like that. And…it’s nice to imagine a world where he wasn’t completely responsible for all the terrible things that he did.” Suddenly, she took a breath, and shook her head. “But what am I saying? You deal with _demons_ on a daily basis. This must sound ridiculous to you.”

In response, Sam shook his own head. “No way, Betty. The stuff you’re talking about sounds just as scary as what I deal with.” Truthfully, throughout this entire disclosure from Betty, he had been vividly reminded of his older brother’s words, three years ago, after a particularly unusual case: _Demons, I get. People, are crazy._

What on Earth could he say to Betty? 

There was, of course, one way in which he _could_ strongly relate to her, one way in which he _had_ been relating to her throughout this entire conversation, and despite being a wildly different situation, there were strong parallels to hers, at least in his mind. But should he voice it? He suddenly realized that the diner was coming into view, and that he would have to say goodbye to her soon; he was running out of time to find something, anything, to say. So he went ahead, and just bluntly stated it. “I’ve, uh, struggled with demon possession over the years. As in, demons have wanted to possess _me_ , specifically.” As Betty looked at him, raising her eyebrows, he nodded. “Seriously.” 

“Not only have I exorcised countless individuals,” he continued, “I’ve also been…possessed, on multiple occasions, by some of the absolute worst kinds of evil,” (he decided to skip out on telling her who Azazel had been) “and—well, this isn’t the point of what I’m saying, but, for what it’s worth, I can tell you that if you’ve been able to have any sort of control over your ‘darkness’, when you’re experiencing it, it isn’t a supernatural thing. People who get possessed, despite being aware of what’s happening to them, lose all control over their actions. Something else takes over, completely, and it’s like they’re locked up in a cage, watching, unable to escape.” Here, he looked over at her, and recognized the look on her face as containing both relief and disappointment. “That doesn’t mean that what you are experiencing is not to be taken seriously,” he added.

He went on. “My main point,” he said, “is that there are some within the hunting world,” and here he was thinking of Gordon Walker, among others, “who believe that ultimately, because of the, uh, _type_ of demon that has shown interest in possessing me, I will become pure evil; that it’s my ‘destiny’, as you said.” He paused, the burden of his own circumstances now weighing on his mind. The diner was now only three blocks away.

“It’s an incredible weight, on any person’s shoulders, when they know that other people—especially those who know them best—believe the worst in them,” Sam said. “It’s an even heavier load,” he continued, “when that fear becomes personal; when we start believing that the worst in ourselves is also the most true part of ourselves.” 

_If Dean were here right now, he’d be rolling his eyes and telling me I need to stop reading poetry,_ Sam suddenly thought. Wondering if Betty would react the same way as his brother, he looked over at her. Her face was set very carefully in a neutral-looking expression, but her eyes, serious and energetic, were locked on his, so he continued. “I can imagine, at least somewhat, how you feel,” he said, thinking of Azazel, of Ruby. “You looked at your father, in the prison that day, and you wondered if you were facing a future version of yourself.”

Betty nodded, her face seemingly neutral, and yet, Sam noticed that her teeth were clenched shut. “Yes,” she finally said.

* * *

Veronica Lodge was certain that Willow Hawthorne was going to be her best friend by the end of the weekend. Too bad that she would only be here until the end of the weekend.

Veronica had chosen the booth that her group of friends always favoured—the fifth one to the left, immediately after walking in, a lucky find considering how packed the diner currently was—and, having taken a seat, was now eagle-eyeing the entrance, hardly noticing when Pop had swung by to ask what flavour milkshake she wanted. And there was Willow, now! Veronica checked her watch. _Five minutes early,_ she noticed. Stylish, smart, _and_ professional—Willow was _exactly_ her favourite kind of person. Willow waved at her, and headed over. 

“Hi,” she said, grinning at Veronica.

“How was the museum?”

“Oh, it was cool,” Willow replied airily. Today, she had on another great-looking pair of jeans, stylish black rain boots, a black V-neck sweater, and although she wasn’t wearing makeup today, Veronica noticed that her nails matched the deep purple colour of not only her raincoat, but also of the pendant hanging around her neck. _Again with the fantastic colour coordination, Veronica thought._

“This town has quite the history,” Willow was saying, “and I’m really glad I got to see it. I did quite a lot of walking around, though, so I’m glad you invited me somewhere we could sit for a while, and eat. I’m quite hungry.”

Veronica grinned, and then remembered something. “Oh, I ordered you a chocolate milkshake, my favourite flavour. I hope that that’s okay?”

At this, a smile broke out over Willow’s face. “You know what? Chocolate isn’t usually my favourite, but I was craving that exact drink on the way over here. Isn’t that awesome?” Veronica laughed. “I imagine you’ll have the same exact luck with the food here. Everything here is really good. Although I’m partial to the green salad, myself. The vinaigrette that Pop makes is _magnifique._ ” 

Willow nodded absently, absorbed in the menu. “The description does look good…”

Because she knew what she wanted to order, Veronica looked around the diner. One of her favourite things about this place was its abundance of character. Few people knew that even though she planned to go the business route in postsecondary, Veronica had quite a passion for history, and loved being inside older buildings that had retained the memories of previous decades. This might have been because of the old, historical buildings that she’d always lived in, whether in New York City or in Riverdale. Of course, this diner was no exception to her admiration. 

Having been around for nearly a century, there was all sorts to notice, if one just looked around. For example, on the north wall of the diner, by the jukebox, was a tribute to all of the people who had been integral to the diner’s initial conceptualization and construction. Their photos were framed in black and white, with their names, the years that they had been involved with the diner, and a brief description of their roles. 

If one were to sit by the east wall and look out the windows, they would see, in the distance, Sweetwater River. To a newcomer, admiring this particular view might seem rather morbid; after all, Jason Blossom’s body had been found there not that long ago. Yet Veronica knew that the river held a far richer history. This was where the Southside Serpents, one of Riverdale’s major gangs, had met for the first time and established themselves, and it was also their primary meeting location outside of the Whyte Wyrm; it was where countless victorious athletes had been crowned champions of the annual boating race; it was where many of the town’s children learned to swim. And, to be perfectly honest, it was synonymous with the Blossom name, not because of Jason, but because it bordered the maple farm that the family was famous for, and their mansion; even from where Veronica was sitting, she could see the outline of the formidable Victorian estate.

Alice Cooper, who was the mother of Veronica’s best friend, had had her first job here, as a waitress. Veronica’s own mother had worked here for a little while. In fact, it seemed as though most people she knew had been employed here, at some point in their lives.

After a few moments, Veronica was brought back to reality by Pop, who placed the two milkshakes on the table, and took their food orders. When this was done, Willow spoke. “What’s it been like, having your parents out of town this week?”

“Oh, my God,” Veronica replied. “It’s been _so_ great. I wish they were out of town for longer.” She clapped a hand over her mouth as she saw the surprised expression on her new friend’s face. “Sorry,” she said, a little nervously. “That was a little dramatic.”

“No, it’s all good,” Willow replied, eyeing her curiously. “Tired of them?” she asked, her tone non-judgmental.

“It’s complicated,” Veronica replied. “Things have been…things could be better,” she replied, and tried to elaborate. “Particularly between my father and I, things have been tense.” She paused, thinking. How could she explain her relationship with her father, the infamous Hiram Lodge, to someone who wasn’t familiar with his reputation as a powerful but shady business dealer?

Turned out, she didn’t have to. “I get it,” Willow said. “Moving out of my father’s house was a relief.” She seemed to hesitate, as though she were about to say something, but then appeared to stop herself.

“When did you move out?” Veronica asked, sipping her milkshake.

“Well, I should probably add that I moved back in,” Willow said. “I chose to. I left my father’s house, for several years, to live with my brother, but then I decided to go back.” She hesitated. “It’s been nice, being back. I realize now that…back before I left, things weren’t as bad as they seemed.”

“How so?”

Willow sighed. “I suppose I got all caught up in the idea that my father didn’t understand me. I acted out a lot when I was younger…I didn’t understand how he, a completely nice and by-the-book guy, could understand that my more rebellious side was as real as my kind side is. I got the idea in my head that he would reject me if he ever understood that…Now, I’ve actually spoken to him about it directly, like I should have done all along, and he reassured me that he completely gets it.”

Willow paused, and then a wicked grin came across her face. “So. What is there to know about this town? What’s the gossip?”

Veronica laughed, feeling buoyant. “Oh, _let me tell you_ about the gossip,” she said, launching into a description of the influential families and groups in Riverdale. This took several minutes, for the process of describing the particular intricacies of the Blossoms and the Southside Serpents was quite lengthy.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty, Veronica, and Willow have a sleepover at _The Pembrooke_.

# Chapter Seven

#### Evening

As they arrived at the diner, Betty knew that meeting Sam had been the best thing to happen to her in a long time. 

Here was someone, an objective stranger to the town and its people, who could directly relate to the mess of feelings that she was having these days, and provide an outsider’s perspective. What a feeling that was! Of course, she was grateful for the unwavering support that her friends had given her— _of course_ she was—it was just really nice to hear from someone else who knew firsthand what she was experiencing.

Upon opening the doors and walking in with Sam, Betty reflexively looked to the left, and immediately spotted her best friend, Veronica. Her face broke out in a wide smile. She turned to Sam. “Just…” she began. What could she say to him, now that she had just a few seconds left before they parted ways? “…thank you for listening to me,” she said, and she hoped that he understood just how grateful she was. “I honestly feel better than I have in months.”

He smiled at her. “I’m glad. Good luck,” he said, his voice warm. “You too,” she replied, and she turned away, her thoughts from mere moments ago forgotten at the sight of Veronica. How great it was to see her! As she walked over, she registered that someone was sitting across from her best friend—the person that Veronica had met yesterday. Veronica had texted Betty, saying that she’d be coming. _I can’t remember what her name is,_ Betty suddenly realized. _Winona? Lilly?_

“Hey, ladies,” Betty said, smiling at Veronica and her friend. “Hello, yourself,” Veronica replied, grinning back at her. “You remember Willow, right? I met her in the diner the other day.” 

_Willow._

“Yes, of course,” Betty answered, nodding at Willow as she slid into the seat next to Veronica. “Nice to see you again. How are you enjoying your stay in Riverdale?” she asked Willow, looking up and into the visitor’s brown eyes as she was just finishing her question.

In the split second between the moment that Betty finished talking, and the moment before Willow started, Willow fixated an intense stare into Betty’s eyes, and Betty suddenly got the feeling that she was searching for something. Her own eyes widened as she realized this, but even as this was happening, Willow had broken off eye contact and begun talking.

“Oh, I love this town,” Willow replied. “And you’ve all been so accommodating,” she added, her posture relaxing, now smiling at Betty, her gaze normal, conversational. “I’ll be sad to leave.”

“That’s really nice to hear,” Betty said, deciding to let the moment pass, and Veronica, who hadn’t noticed, nodded.

“How long have you been in town?” Betty asked.

“I arrived the day I met Veronica,” Willow replied. “We weren’t planning on staying. Oh, I should mention, my father and I are doing a road trip to California, that’s how we came to be in the area. Anyway, while we were on our way, the rain got so heavy that it was hard for my father to drive, and then we saw all the storm advisories, so we decided to swing into the nearest town and wait out the bad weather. We checked into the Riverdale Inn, just down the block. I walked over here to get us some takeout dinner food, and I just happened to walk over to use the washroom at the same time she did.”

“Well, that’s really cool,” Betty replied. “Super lucky that you two met like that.”

Veronica spoke. “Before you got here, Betty, Willow was telling me that she went to the museum.”

The conversation went on, and the teenagers talked about all sorts of things, from the town, to the locals, to the latest fashion trends. Betty quickly came to like Willow. 

A few hours later, Veronica cleared her throat. “It’s getting late. Would you two like to come over to my place, and sleep over? My parents are out of town this week—well, you both know that already.” Two quick phone calls led to affirmative answers from Betty’s mother and Willow’s father, and the three walked out of the diner to meet Veronica’s limo, which was sliding into the parking lot at that very moment.

When she caught sight of the limousine, Willow gave a small shriek. “Girl, _this_ is your ride?!” she exclaimed, squealing. 

“Umm, yeah,” Veronica said, blushing a little. Having lived in Riverdale, where everyone knew everyone, for two years, it had been a while since anyone had reacted to her wealth in that way.

“This is fucking _cool!_ ” Willow replied. A moment later, she covered her mouth with her hands. “Sorry. Language,” she gasped.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Betty said. “I don’t think either of us mind swearing.” Veronica shook her head, chuckling.

“Okay, great, so I haven’t offended anyone. My father has asked me not to curse, so I’m used to apologizing for it,” Willow explained, laughing a little. Betty noticed that Willow and Veronica shared a quick look, an expression of understanding passing briefly over Veronica’s face. 

“Home, please, André,” Veronica requested, once they’d settled into the vehicle. “As you wish, Miss Lodge,” said her driver, his face only viewable from the rearview mirror for an instant, before the dividing window ascended, cutting off the three young women from the front seats of the limo.

“Veronica, your driver is _hot,_ ” Willow whispered, causing Betty to laugh. “ _What?_ ” Veronica whispered back, a mildly shocked expression on her face. “I don’t see him that way. He’s been driving me around since I was a little girl! Do you think so, Betty?”

Betty paused, and the other two looked at her with raised eyebrows. “I’ve always thought he was very handsome, Ronnie,” she admitted. “I just didn’t know how to say it.” Veronica’s mouth dropped, but she was smiling. “Betty _Cooper_ , you are shameless…Oooh! I just remembered!” she exclaimed, winking at Betty. “You’re going to love this, Willow.”

“Oh, get ready for this,” Betty muttered to Willow, grinning. “It’s her favourite party trick.” Veronica narrowed her eyes at her. “Now don’t go giving away my secrets, Betty—she’s seen me do this before,” she added, looking at Willow. “Do you see that button next to your seat?” Willow nodded. “Go ahead and press it.” Willow pushed it, and the button lit up; next to Veronica, a secret compartment slid out from under the floor, containing several chilled bottles of what looked like champagne.

“It’s not alcohol,” Veronica said quickly, looking at Willow. “It’s sparkling apple cider.” 

“Oh my gosh, this is amazing,” Willow replied, cackling with laughter. Grinning, Veronica handed the top bottle to Betty, who opened it ceremoniously, splashing some into the glasses that Veronica seemed to pull out of nowhere. (Having done this a few times, Betty knew that the glasses came from a compartment just under Veronica’s seat.) “ _Pour toi, mademoiselle,_ ” Betty said, adopting a fake French accent as she gave Willow her glass. “ _Merçi beaucoup,_ ” Willow answered, smiling, not missing a beat. 

At this point, Betty recognized that André was taking them on what Veronica had dubbed “the scenic route” (as opposed to “the business route”, or “the _difficult_ business route”, a favourite of Hiram’s). Sure enough, André soon turned left and headed down the block, and so Betty and pointed out the window. “That’s where I live,” she said to Willow. 

Veronica chimed in, pointing to the house next door to Betty’s. “And that’s where my boyfriend, Archie, lives.” Willow raised her eyebrows. “Did you two know each other, growing up?” she asked Betty. “Archie and I? Yeah, we did,” Betty said to Willow, smiling. “We’ve been close friends for most of our lives. I’m actually dating _his_ best friend, Jughead.” Willow laughed. “That’s awesome. Does he live around here, too, then?” she asked.

“No, he lives on the south side of town,” Betty replied, “but we’ve all gone to school together for most of our lives. He and Archie were closer than I was to him, growing up. We didn’t really start talking and hanging out on our own until high school. That was when we became friends. Then, a couple years ago, in sophomore year, we started dating.” 

“That’s so cool,” Willow replied, her eyes getting a dreamy look to them. “Do you have anyone in your life, Willow?” Veronica asked. “No,” Willow replied, “I’m too busy with school. I don’t know how the two of you manage to find time to have boyfriends on top of school! The teachers have us working twenty-four seven.”

“Yeah, we do manage quite a _lot_ on top of school, don’t we, Bets?” Veronica asked, her face quivering with a repressed smile. Betty burst into laughter, tears appearing in her eyes. Now that she’d gotten her fears off of her chest earlier, with Sam, she could joke about the events of the last year, for real. This was great! “You could say that, Ronnie,” she replied. Seeing the bemused look on Willow’s face, she chuckled a little more. “Let us explain…”

And for the second time that day, she launched into an in-depth explanation of the goings-on of the town, over the past year. This time, Veronica filled in with the details, adding her own perspective on everything that had happened. And although they talked about the Black Hood—how could they not?—once again, Betty avoided mentioning that she was personally related to him. Ever the thoughtful friend, Veronica chose not to fill in this particular gap in Betty’s narrative.

* * *

“So, let me get this straight,” Willow said, as the group climbed the steps to _The Pembrooke_ ’s upper floor, André having disappeared with their bags. “You solved a _murder_ , Betty, and you, Veronica, overturned your corrupt _father_ , while you were both managing schoolwork, a musical, _and_ the school newspaper? You both are amazing! Superwomen,” Willow said, a look of awe on her face.

“Thank you,” Betty and Veronica said in unison, high-fiving at their synced-up words. “Jinx,” Betty joked. Then, she turned to Willow. “So, what’s life like in New York City? I’ve always wanted to go there. Is it as incredible as Veronica says it is, or better?”

“It’s pretty great,” Willow said, grinning. “I mean, I feel like a normal teenager most of the time, you know? Projects and tests and way-too-early mornings and stuff,” she said, “but then I’ll turn a corner and Tom Hiddleston’s there, strolling through Central Park.”

“You met _Tom Hiddleston_?” Betty asked her, shocked. Veronica laughed. “I didn’t meet him! I just sort of stared at him as he passed by, to be honest,” Willow replied, grinning. “I was starstruck! Couldn’t even remember his name.”

“You’ve just learned about Betty’s not-so-secret celebrity crush,” Veronica said. “Girl, I don’t blame you,” Willow said, “he’s hot as fuck.” Just as she was saying that, André entered.

“Your bags, Miss Lodge,” he said, nodding politely and dropping off the bags. “Thank you, André,” Veronica said, as Willow turned around, her face going scarlet.

“Oh, don’t worry, Willow,” Veronica said, once André had left, “he’s not offended by language. You should hear my father when he’s doing business on the phone,” she added, smirking. “That’s not why I was embarrassed,” Willow muttered, a sheepish grin on her face.  
“So—face masks?” Veronica asked, seemingly pulling them out of nowhere. (Betty knew, though, that Veronica stashed them under the sofa’s side table, for just these sorts of moments.)

* * *

#### Late Evening

“Well, ladies,” Veronica said, her words obscured by a big yawn, “I really am getting tired. I’m going to hit the hay. Don’t worry about waking me up, if you want to keep talking, though,” she added, “the walls are soundproofed. Bets, you’ll show Willow the guest room?” Betty nodded. “For sure, Ronnie. Good night.”

“Good night,” Willow chimed in, and Veronica left. There was a pause. “Have you been to California before?” Betty asked. Despite the late hour, she still felt quite energetic, and it seemed as though Willow felt the same way.

“I haven’t, actually,” Willow answered. “I’m really excited about it. I’ve been trying to get my father to do a summer road trip for _years_. Finally, he caved.”

“Wow, that’s awesome,” Betty said. “I’ve not been to California either. It sounds amazing, though. All that sunshine? I like the rain, but I bet that that’s nice.” Willow nodded. “I can’t wait. Although if I see Tom Hiddleston again, I’m definitely asking for a photo with him.” Both laughed. “Do you want another soda?” Willow asked Betty, as she got up and walked towards the mini-fridge. “I’m craving another one.”

“Sure, thanks,” Betty said. Willow brought back two cans, and the two sipped for a moment in peace.

“This place is so cool,” Willow said. “I mean, New York is great, don’t get me wrong, but you and your friends must have so much fun in this town.”

“Well,” Betty said, “the last couple of years have been kind of weird—you know, with Jason’s murder, and then the whole ‘Black Hood’ thing—but Riverdale _is_ pretty cool, yeah. And I have a great group of friends,” she said, feeling another wave of gratitude wash over her. 

“What about your family?” Willow asked. 

“What about them?” 

“Do you get along, and all that?” There was a pause. “Sorry,” Willow said. “That was a very personal question. Must be the late hour.” Both giggled. “No, it’s fine,” Betty said. “Um,” she said, not quite sure how to put it, “you know, there’s been…some drama, over the past year. Uh, my parents split up, and some other stuff happened as well.” (Well, that _was_ the best way to put it. As cathartic as her conversation with Sam earlier today had really been, she still didn’t like the idea of telling people about the Black Hood’s identity, if she didn’t absolutely have to.)

“Well, that sucks,” Willow replied, a frown appearing on her face. “Yeah,” Betty said. “It’s all still pretty new, so I’m still processing it. It’s weird not having my dad around the house. My parents have split up before, but, well, this time it’s real, you know? The other times, I sort of felt like they would get back together.”

“But not this time?” Willow asked. “No,” Betty answered. _He’s in jail; how could he?_ “Definitely not. He’s left for good.” She sighed. “How about you, though? What’s your family like?”

“Well, I live with my father,” Willow said, “and two older brothers, one of whom came on our road trip. He’s quite a few years older than I am, and he tends to act like he knows a lot that I don’t. Not that I blame him…” Seeing Betty’s inquisitive look, she elaborated. “I have a bit of a reputation in the family as ‘the wild one’, so to speak. I’ve calmed down more recently, but, um…yeah. He’s definitely the model son. He follows my father’s advice to a tee. Me, on the other hand? I only started following his example three or so years ago. Before that, I just did what I wanted.” Willow sighed. “And it really messed things up for a while."

Betty frowned. “I’m sure that’s not the case. I mean, you said that you just started following your brother’s example three years ago, right? So how old were you when you stopped acting out, thirteen? Fourteen?” She paused. “What kind of trouble could you have gotten up to at thirteen?”

A dark expression crossed over Willow’s face. “A lot,” she whispered. “You’d be surprised.”

“Oh,” Betty said. “Well, fair enough.”

The conversation moved on to lighter topics; at around two-thirty, they decided that sleep was needed, so Betty showed Willow to the first guest room, and fell deeply asleep in the second.

* * *

#### Very Early Morning

Although most strangers viewed the 1967 Chevy Impala as simply a sweet-looking vehicle, to Dean it was as special as a childhood home. After all, his parents had driven him and Sam home from the hospital in this car; his father had driven them from hunt to hunt, after the death of their mother, as they searched tirelessly for the demon that killed her; Dean and his brother had learned to drive in this car; and, well, it was no secret that Dean had driven himself and Sam to many bars, and taken many one-night stands from said bars home, in this car.

It had been in this car that Dean had decided to trade his soul in order for his brother to be resurrected from the dead; it had been in this car that the two had, over the course of their year of searching for their missing father, slowly mended the uneasy relationship that they’d had.

Of course, Dean, who didn’t like to dwell on this sort of thing, wasn’t focusing on this at the moment. Instead, he was working as hard as ever on fixing the car, having found it unbearable to take any breaks whatsoever. In fact, he was in relatively good spirits at the moment, although this didn’t stop him from unleashing the odd bout of cursing at the person who had wrecked the car. Although he thought that this type of thing was entirely justified— _this person had destroyed his car!_ —he maybe should have thought twice about doing it at almost three in the morning, when his brother was sound asleep four feet away.

“Dude, it’s almost three in the morning,” his brother—who, it was worth noting, had returned from his trip into town weirdly early; usually, he would spend several hours exploring whatever location they were in. And yet, he’d come back well supplied with food, so Dean couldn’t really ask—had stated just now, his snoring having abruptly stopped. “I know, Sammy,” Dean answered from under the car. “The work doesn’t stop.” 

In response, Sam grumbled something, and then conked out immediately. Nevertheless, Dean spoke. “Two more days,” he said. “Two more days, and I’ll have her ready to go.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unusual weather event disrupts Riverdale. Over at Pop's Diner, Jughead has a strange conversation with one of the patrons.

# Chapter Eight

#### Early Morning

“Uhh, what the fuck?” Dean exclaimed, blinking and rubbing his eyes, then squinting at the sky.

The sky was black.

Completely black. Like someone had gone and painted the sky. The wind was whirling powerfully, a faint howling noise sounding in the distance.

Now, _this_ definitely couldn’t be normal, not even for this town.

_“Sam!”_

* * *

_We interrupt this broadcast to inform you of an extreme weather warning for the town of Riverdale. Effective immediately, all highways are closed. Be careful if you leave your home. It is unclear how long this will last, or what will come of it._

* * *

#### Morning

_Veronica to group: As long as this weather situation doesn’t escalate, the party at my place tonight is still on! I’ll send a text later today to confirm. You’re all still coming, right?_

_Betty to group: Heck yes girl! I’ll be there!!_

_Veronica to Betty: Haha, good morning, Bets. Glad to know you’re coming tonight. Is Willow awake, too, do you know? Shall I tell the chef to prepare us breakfast?_

_Archie to all: Thx for reminding me, Ronnie_

_Betty to Veronica: IDK about Willow, but breakfast sounds good to me!_

_Archie to group: I’ll dbl check w my dad again but it should be fine, ya_

_Jughead to group: Yeah_

_Cheryl to group: Yes, Toni and I will be there. XO, Cheryl_

_Jughead to Veronica: Thanks for inviting Cheryl and Toni, Veronica. The Serpents appreciate the olive branch._

_Veronica to Jughead: Happy to, Jughead. After the events of the last year, I’d really like to keep a good relationship with the Serpents._

_Veronica to Jughead: See you tonight! :)_

* * *

At Pop’s Diner, the only customer was the ever-present young man, Jughead Jones, sitting at his usual booth, with the unique hat and typewriter that went everywhere that he did. And, boy, was he ever having fun with this so-called “storm”. Had it _ever_ given him all kinds of literary inspiration.

_It were as though the Hand of God were reaching down upon the sky, to condemn the people of the town,_ he wrote, _for a veil of darkness now hung over the heads of all, the sky a visible reminder of the shame that everyone had been made to feel over the past year._

Suddenly, Jughead paused. Should he really continue? This would undoubtedly—and rightfully so—upset Betty, were she to read it. After thinking it over for a moment, he decided to type out his thoughts, and then discard the paper. No need for anyone to ever read this, as good as it was. Besides, it didn’t match the tone of the novel that he was writing, really. 

Hearing the bell above the entrance doors chime, Jughead looked up, surprised that someone was coming in. From what he’d seen as he walked over to the diner (the empty streets, the shut curtains), the people in town seemed to be very afraid of whatever this sky was, so he wasn’t expecting to see anyone he knew. Could it be a person from out of town, delayed on their commute now that the highways were closed? As he processed the general look of the person who had just walked in, Jughead realized that this person didn’t fit the image of a truck driver, or a business person.

Sure, he was dressed in a suit (or at least, Jughead saw a tie underneath the trench coat that he was wearing), but he didn’t carry a briefcase, and his body language was very different from the business people who usually stopped in on their way into the city. Instead of the quick, decisive movements that that sort tended to make, not taking too much time to look at anything, getting takeout coffee and food and booking it out of the diner, this person stood stock-still at the entrance, processing everything in sight slowly and decisively. He seemed to be scanning all of the tables, booths, and counter seats; eventually, his gaze made its way over to Jughead, and the two made eye contact. After several moments, during which Jughead had the uneasy feeling of being thoroughly searched, the man looked away. _Definitely not a businessperson,_ Jughead thought. A suit would have only glanced at him briefly.

After taking everything in, the man made his way to a booth about three down from Jughead, taking a seat on the side facing him. He took a small book from an inner pocket of his trench coat—that was odd, he didn’t take the coat off, even though it was fairly warm in the diner—opened it up, and began to read it. Although his eyes clearly scanned the lines on each page, and he turned them at appropriate intervals, Jughead had the strong feeling that his mind was far elsewhere. He shrugged it off, and returned to his typing.

_Those who looked up at the sky felt many things. Awe, or terror, were their primary reactions…_

* * *

“Okay, ladies,” Veronica said decisively to Betty and Willow, the three sitting around Veronica’s dining table. “I’ve had a great time, and normally I’d love to continue as we have been, but I have a party to get this place ready for.”

“I’m happy to stay and help if you’d like, Veronica,” Betty said, although she already knew what her best friend would say back. Willow, not in the know, nodded earnestly, in agreement with Betty’s words.

“Not a chance,” Veronica replied, smiling. “As always, I appreciate the offer though, Bets. Now, I’ll have André drop you both off at home, and I’ll see you both tonight, yes?”

* * *

Sam had something he knew he had to say to Dean, but it was a conversation that he was dreading. His older brother had been hard at work on the Impala for nearly forty-eight hours, sleeping only sporadically, and it was clear that he was losing his focus. Of course, the loss in focus may also have come from the distraction of the pitch-black sky. What was _that_ all about? There was one thing that it reminded him of, come to think of it…

And it didn’t seem as though Sam were the only one having this thought, for at that moment, his brother spoke from the back of the car. “You know, Sam,” he said thoughtfully, “this black sky is reminding me of when—”

“—when we first met Castiel?” Sam interrupted, and Dean nodded at him. “Yeah. That day, the sky was different, too. Not quite like _this_ ,” and here he gestured upward in a circling motion, “but similar.”

“I wonder what it means,” Dean continued. “We’ll have to ask Cas when we see him.” “Yeah,” Sam responded, mulling over the best way to bring up what was on his mind, as Dean went back to the car.

A few minutes passed, and then Dean, with a sigh, stopped what he was doing. “Okay, what is it, Sam?”

Sam started. _What the hell,_ he thought. “Dean, I know you’re capable of fixing the car yourself…it’s just that, well, this town is weird. What if we walk around it for a bit? Just for a little while. I have a feeling it might be a good idea to get our bearings around here.”

“Sam, the work doesn’t st—“

“Look,” Sam interjected, “I bet that there won’t be many people around, what with this black sky, so we can just get an idea of where everything is, at least. Maybe we can talk to the locals, the ones who have to work in town today, about the sky.”

Dean sighed, and thought for a moment. “I hate to admit this, Sammy,” he eventually said, “but I wouldn’t mind a change of scenery. And this sky _is_ creepy. I’m curious to find out if this sort of ‘weather’,” and at this, both men scoffed, “is a regular occurrence in this town.” Sam nodded. “Agreed,” he replied, standing. 

* * *

#### Afternoon

“Another one for you, son?” Pop asked Jughead, gesturing at the plate next to the teen’s typewriter, which had, half an hour ago, had contained a cheeseburger and fries.

“Uhh, sure,” Jughead said, lost in the page he was writing. “Thanks, Pop.” The page he’d written on the black sky had become a full-fledged short story of its own, taking place within the fictional town that his novel was set in, but a hundred years in the future. It was quite the tale. 

He typed the final sentence and read the whole thing over again. _Not bad_ , Jughead thought to himself, nodding at his own words. As he looked up to scan the diner, something he hadn’t done in quite a while, he started. The space seemed even emptier that it had been before, if that was even possible, although the man in the trench coat was still sitting in the place he’d been before. As he took him in, Jughead began to frown. When he’d seen him before, the man seemed to be in the final third of the book he was reading; now, he was barely ten pages in, but seemingly absorbed, his expression one of someone reading a huge cliffhanger for the first time.

“Some of the staff went home early,” Pop’s voice said, from over the counter, and Jughead looked over at him. “Guess the weather scared some of them. I suppose I don’t blame them. Never seen anything like this in Riverdale.” Out of the corner of his eye, Jughead could see that the man in the trench coat had tilted his head ever so slightly, as though he were paying close attention to what Pop was saying.

“What do _you_ think this is?” Jughead said slowly, gesturing out the window.

“I don’t know, son,” Pop replied uncertainly. “It could be the weather.” He paused. “What I do know is that it’s created a fear like nothing before. No one is leaving their homes right now. Wasn’t even that bad when the Black Hood was at his worst.” At the mention of the Black Hood, both Pop and Jughead shuddered.

Pop continued. “I imagine some folks are wondering if this phenomenon has an otherworldly cause. I’m not one to believe in that sort of thing, myself, although my staff certainly do. One of them said something about preparing for ‘the end of the world’.”

Jughead snorted. “Seriously? This past year, we have a _murderer_ rampaging through the town, killing teenagers and schoolteachers”—and here, he became worried that his words may have scared the stranger, who was clearly not from this town, so he glanced over at him; it seemed, however, that the man was truly absorbed in his book, for he hadn’t reacted at all—“and people have no problem going about their daily lives. But for _this_ ”—and he gestured out the window again (and what even was this sky, really? Looked like heavy clouds, to him)—“they refuse to leave their homes?”

Pop shrugged. “Beats me, son. I looked the Black Hood in the eye when he stormed in here with a gun and nearly killed Fred Andrews, and to this day, the darkness in him is something I remember vividly. I told you once that it seemed as though the Angel of Death had come to Riverdale…well, after that, this sky business doesn’t seem like a big deal.” Jughead noticed, without having to break eye contact with Pop, that the man was now sitting completely still, muscles tense. Just then, the entrance doors chimed, and Jughead used the opportunity to look over at the new arrivals…and then to quickly glance at the man. He saw that although his book was still open in his hands, the stranger was now looking down at the table, seemingly lost in thought.

“However, I won’t judge another person for their beliefs,” Pop continued. “To each their own. I’m sure that this sky has struck a chord with many people, for good reason.” Jughead nodded. “Yeah, for sure,” he said, thinking.

Seriously— _who was this guy_ sitting across from him? As Pop turned away to greet the new customers, Jughead looked the stranger over more carefully, but didn’t notice anything new. He pulled the final page of his story out of the typewriter, and laid it on the table, along with the other several completed pages.

He looked back up at the stranger, only to see the man’s blue eyes boring into his.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The teens of Riverdale prepare for Veronica's big party.

# Chapter Nine

“Ya know,” Dean said to Sam, “I wish Castiel’d tell us where we were going, when he transports us.” 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sam said, laughing a little. “Where even are we?”

Just as they’d packed up their research materials (and various IDs and credit cards), the angel had appeared in the shack. Neither Winchester missed the look of absolute rage that overtook his face, very briefly, when he noticed the black sky. He’d agreed that it would be best if they stayed in town and learned as much as possible about it. Saying nothing further, he’d reached to take hold of both of their arms, and they now found themselves _here_ …wherever that was. 

They appeared to be in town, that much was clear, although since they hadn’t yet made much of an effort to explore the area, it took them a moment to gather their bearings. “Oh, I remember,” Sam said. “When I was walking from the library to the diner, I went right by that fountain at the end of the block. So the library’s that way…” as he said this, he pointed in the opposite direction of the fountain, “…and the diner is up that way, past the forest there,” he concluded, pointing towards the streets past the fountain, which curved upward in a steep incline for a while, the forest immediately adjacent.

The brothers looked around at their immediate surroundings. Across the street, a fancy-looking building, all golden arches and glass, stood. “ _‘The Pembrooke,’_ ” Dean read. “Wonder who lives there?”

“Whoever they are, they’ve gotta be rich as hell,” Sam mused. “I mean, check out that neo-classical design. That’s gotta be a multi-million dollar building.” 

Hearing this, Dean just gave him a look. “I took an architecture class in my freshman year,” Sam said, his tone defensive.

The brothers looked around some more. Next to _The Pembrooke_ was a tuxedo shop, and on the other side was a fancy-looking restaurant (“Only the best for a building with ‘neo-whatever’ design, eh, Sam?”); across the street, on the side where the brothers currently stood, was a clothing shop, a bank, and a twenty four-hour café. “Should we go in?” Dean asked Sam, gesturing towards the café, and the younger brother nodded.

* * *

“Sam, you know what I’ve noticed about this town?” Dean said, about two hours after they’d settled in and begun their investigation, as he eyed the staff at the café, and what few patrons were around. Sam, currently deep into a twenty-five-year-old copy of _The Riverdale Register_ , looked up. “What’s that?”

“The people,” Dean said, “all look really nervous, all the time, even though we haven’t picked up on anything paranormal.” He gestured, subtly, at the woman sitting by the windows, her hands fidgeting.

“Yeah, I noticed that, too,” Sam replied, eyeing the man at the register, who kept looking at the café’s entrance. “Everyone’s always looking over their shoulders. I noticed that right away at the diner,” he said.

“Uh huh. A _year_ ago,” Dean muttered. Sam nodded, his brows furrowing, as he put his paper aside, having finished it, and began looking through the other papers, searching for the subsequent publication.

* * *

The front doors of Pop’s opened, and Jughead came bursting out, almost at a running pace. For the first time in his life, he was in a hurry to leave the diner. Had his thoughts been elsewhere, he might have raised his eyebrows at the considerably lighter state of the sky.

* * *

_As of four twenty-nine P.M. on Saturday, the extreme weather advisory over Riverdale has been lifted. No danger was detected. You may leave your homes now, without concern._

* * *

_Veronica to group: All right, people. Party’s on, for real! Starts at 7PM! :D_

_Cheryl to group: So cool! Thanks for organizing this, Veronica! This is Toni btw_

_Veronica to group: My pleasure! See you both tonight!_

_Archie to group: I’ll be there, thx Ronnie_

_Veronica to group: How about you, Jughead? You’re still on, yes?_

* * *

#### Evening

“Well, I guess I should get ready for Veronica’s party,” Betty told her mother and sister, getting up. “It starts in a couple of hours.” Knowing Veronica, she was going to throw an all-out bash, so Betty figured she’d better get a bit glammed up. Just as she got to the top of the stairs and turned towards her room, her phone chimed. _Beep-beep._

_Archie to Betty: U heard from Jug at all 2day?_

_Betty to Archie: No. I’m guessing you haven’t, either?_

_Beep-beep._

_Archie to Betty: No. Weird._

_Beep-beep._

_Archie to Betty: I was gonna offer him (and u) a ride_

_Betty to Archie: If you’re still offering, that would be great…:)_

_Beep-beep._

_Archie to Betty: Ya of course!_

_Beep-beep._

_Archie to Betty: Pick u up at 6:45?_

_Betty to Archie: Sounds good! See you in a bit. If I hear from Jughead, I’ll let you know._

_Beep-beep._

_Archie to Betty: Ok see u soon_

It wasn’t unlike Jughead to go off the grid for a bit, so Betty shrugged it off, and sat down in front of her vanity. Taking her hair out of its usual tight ponytail, she took some time to brush it out, and ran a curler through a few stray strands. She smiled with satisfaction at the end result: loose blonde curls tumbling down her shoulders and back. She put on a headband, a simple silky black piece. She also applied mascara, blush and her signature soft pink lipstick. 

Going over to her closet, she pulled out the deep purple dress that Veronica had given her for her birthday last year. Betty grinned as she stood in front of the mirror wearing the dress, for Veronica had a serious talent for picking out clothing that looked amazing on the wearer. She took out a pair of simple black flats from her closet, grabbed her purse, and headed downstairs to wait for Archie.

_Beep-beep._ She pulled out her phone.

_Archie to Betty: Jug just texted me. He’ll meet us there_

* * *

_Willow to Unknown Number: Hey, big bro! I’m heading off to Veronica’s party soon. I promised I’d keep you updated, so…there’s your update._

_Unknown Number to Willow: I’m aware. Have fun._

_Willow to Unknown Number: Thanks! :) :) :) Hope you’re enjoying Riverdale. Talk to you later, Castiel._

* * *

Willow Terra Hawthorne stood at the entrance to _The Pembrooke_ , taking in the sight of the spectacular gold arches that she’d first walked under yesterday evening. Even from here, she could hear the music playing upstairs. 

She looked nervously down at the outfit she’d picked out, a dark red tank top (with lace detail) that showed off her arms nicely, a gold necklace, skintight black jeans and flats. 

_You already know that lots of teens wear this sort of outfit,_ Willow thought to herself. _No need to worry. This is a super cool look._

“Hey!” she heard someone say. She and turned around, smiling when she saw Betty Cooper, who was at that moment getting out of a vintage-looking remodelled car, driven by a vaguely familiar-looking redheaded teen boy. 

_I really need to brush up on my car lingo. I have no idea what to call that thing._

“Hi, Betty!” she exclaimed. “You look amazing!” 

Betty grinned, blushing a bit. “Thanks, Willow. You don’t think I overdressed? Archie definitely said I did,” she replied, whispering this last part to her, smirking.

“No, not at all,” Willow replied earnestly, looking over at Archie, who was at this point walking over from the car. “Hello,” she said to him. 

_Wait—this is the guy whose father got shot by the ‘Black Hood’ , right?_

“Hey,” he said awkwardly to Willow, and the two just sort of looked at each other for a moment. Betty piped up. “Archie, this is Willow. We met her in the diner the other day, remember?” 

“Oh, yeah,” the redhead replied, a blank look in his eyes, clearly not remembering. But he gave her a genuine smile, and extended his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to Riverdale.” Willow shook his hand and smiled. “Thanks,” she said. “I’ve enjoyed my time here so far. That’s a nice, um, car you’ve got there,” she added. 

_Did I shake his hand too hard?_

“The jalopy? Oh, thanks,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “Picked it up from the junkyard a couple months ago. My dad and I fixed it up. Tonight’s the first night I’ve been able to drive it.”

_A ‘jalopy’! Good to know! Wait—did he just say he got it from the junkyard?_

“Well, should we go in?” Betty asked. “I’m so excited for this. Veronica’s parties are always spectacular.” 

* * * 

In the eight or so hours since Willow and Betty had left _The Pembrooke_ , Veronica had managed to clear all the furniture out of the main living room (which, Willow now saw, was quite large), and had installed a large, glowing dance floor, complete with a disco ball and strobe lights. In the dining area, the furniture had also been cleared, and in its place stood several arcade games. Scattered throughout the residence were small tables filled with snacks and drinks. The place was packed with teens, some of whom Willow recognized from the diner and other public areas in Riverdale that she’d been to. Just as she was taking in the sight of a teen boy, standing in the dining area, whom she recognized from Betty’s phone screen, Veronica came out of nowhere and hurtled into the small group, throwing her arms around her and Betty. “Hi!” she yelled over the music. “I’m so glad to see all of you!” 

She hugged Betty and Willow, kissed Archie, and tugged them over to where she’d been—playing a game of ice hockey with the same teen boy from Betty’s phone. By some sort of intelligent architectural design, the sound of the music and guests’ dancing was considerably quieter here. “Jughead,” she heard Betty say, and the two embraced. 

“Good to see you, man,” Archie said to him, grinning. 

* * * 

Jughead Jones gave a genuine smile at the appearance of his girlfriend and best friend, but truth be told, he was still feeling weirded out over the interaction he’d had in the diner earlier today, with that strange man in the trench coat. 

_As Pop turned away to greet the new customers, Jughead looked the stranger over more carefully, but didn’t notice anything new. He pulled the final page of his story out of the typewriter, and laid it on the table, along with the other several completed pages._

_He looked back up at the stranger, only to see the man’s blue eyes boring into his. Jughead started a little, his eyes widening a bit, but he held the man’s gaze evenly. After several moments, the man spoke. “What do_ you _think this sky is?” he asked, in a voice that was rougher than Tall Boy’s._

_Jughead shrugged. “I don’t know, man," he replied nonchalantly. "Doesn’t seem that scary to me.”_

_The man’s eyes narrowed a little. Not wanting to start an argument—this man seemed as though he might be on the spiritual side—Jughead decided to crack a joke. “Look, I don’t know what it is, or how serious it is, but it’s given the town quite the atmosphere. I’m a writer, and, well…it’s given me some inspiration for my novel.” In response to this, the man nodded a little. “Yes,” he said thoughtfully, “I understand how this sky could seem like ‘the Hand of God, reaching down upon the sky to condemn the people of the town’ to someone who hadn’t seen it before…” His voice trailed off, a contemplative expression on his face._

_Hearing this, Jughead’s eyes popped wide open, and he nearly jumped out of his seat. “How did you…” he breathed. In the entire time that the man had been in the diner, Jughead, too absorbed in the writing process, had not gotten up from his own seat. And each time he’d finished a page, he’d folded it, and set it on the table next to him. There was no way that the stranger could have read what he was writing. Not from where he’d been sitting the entire time._

_The stranger simply did a little shrug of his head. “Lucky guess.”_

Seriously—who was _that_ good at guessing? He still wondered what the logical explanation for that interaction could be, even as he slung his arms around Betty’s shoulders and introduced himself to the young woman he remembered from the diner the other day, the game forgotten for the moment. 

Veronica cleared her throat. “I’m so glad you’re all here!” she began. “Is this awesome or what?” 

“About time you had another party,” Betty said. 

Jughead spoke. “I think the last time you had a party like this, Veronica, Southside High still had students of its own for you to invite.” He smiled at her, so she knew that this was meant in good humour—not to invoke the tensions between his neighbourhood and hers, which had gotten quite extreme over the past year. In response, Veronica laughed. “Well, I did my best with the invites,” she said. “And check it out…” she muttered, gesturing subtly towards one of the snack tables, where Riverdale High’s newest power couple were refilling their drinks. “ _Definitely_ Choni confirmed,” she said, grinning. 

“About time,” Jughead said, grinning as Betty said the exact same thing, at the exact same time. He was relieved to see that the expression on his girlfriend’s face was happy and relaxed—that the clenched jaw and hardened eyes that she’d been sporting ever since the arrest of the Black Hood were gone, at least for the moment. 

_About time_ , he thought to himself. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange turn of events leads Sam and Dean Winchester through the streets of Riverdale, where they make a shocking discovery.

# Chapter Ten

“Woah, check it out,” Sam said to Dean. “Looks like a million-dollar party’s started up in _The Pembrooke._ ”

“Damn,” Dean replied, as he took in the high-power strobe lights blazing out the windows, projecting light right into the sky. “Wonder what for.” 

“Think that could be part of the ‘Plan’?” Sam asked him, somewhat jokingly. Dean took a moment to respond, and Sam recognized the expression taking over his older brother’s face. He’d sported it quite often on a recent case, when Castiel had exited the human vessel he’d been inhibiting, a clergyman named Jimmy Novak. When the brothers had first realized what was going on—that Novak had regained full consciousness and use of his body—Sam had noticed that whenever the topic of Castiel (his role as an angel of the Lord, his motivations, even his idiosyncrasies) came up around Novak, Dean was quite careful with his words around the man. And that this same hesitant, thoughtful expression generally preluded the words that he did speak. It was the look Dean wore when he had decided to state what he was thinking, but wasn’t completely certain whether it was right to be saying the words aloud.

“I’m starting to wonder,” Dean finally said, in a lowered tone, “if this ‘Plan’ thing isn’t as it seems. I mean, Castiel’s been talking about it for quite a while, but nothing’s happened. Maybe it’s changed…maybe it’s over. Maybe we weren’t needed, after all.”

Hearing this, Sam nodded. “I’ve been thinking the same thing,” he replied immediately, and the two shared a look of understanding.

“Although I don’t see why he wouldn’t have told us as much…he’s usually pretty open about that sort of thing. Maybe he’s embarrassed,” Dean continued thoughtfully.

Sam never got a chance to voice his opinion (although Dean certainly caught the familiar look of disagreement on his face), for at that very moment, the angel's voice sounded. 

“The Plan hasn’t changed,” Castiel’s voice said, and the brothers looked over to find him sitting in the chair next to them. “You two need to stay here.” He stood, and a distant look came across his face. “ _The very fate of humanity is in dire question right now,_ ” he pronounced. Both brothers noticed that he looked quite displeased, although not at them.

And then, much to Dean’s vexation, he disappeared from the public area yet again. “ _Damn it,_ Cas,” he said, “one of these days someone is going to see you do that, and then we’ll have to answer some awkward questions.”

“Uh, he can’t hear you anymore,” Sam said. Dean just gave him a look.

* * *

#### Late Evening

Dean looked out the café window at just the right moment. “Sam,” he whispered. “Check it out. People are leaving _The Pembrooke._ ” Hearing this, Sam (who was engrossed in a ‘90s edition of _The Register_ ) looked up and across the street, noticing as he did so that the café had completely cleared out.

“Holy shit,” Dean continued, after a moment. “They’re just kids. _The Pembrooke_ is inhabited by wealthy teenagers.” He paused, his eyes narrowing in concentration as he looked a little closer. “Wait,” he said. “That’s the same group of teens that we keep running into.”

“You’re right. That blonde girl, Betty, she’s the one from the library the other day. And I remember her friends from when we saw them that day in the diner…hold on, there’s one that I don’t recognize,” Sam observed. “But other than that, yeah. That’s weird.”

Dean watched the teens as they walked to the end of the street, past the fountain, down the road…towards the woods in behind the diner. “This is it, Sam,” he said slowly, as his thoughts clicked into place. “This is the beginning of the ‘Plan’, I’ll bet you anything. Those kids, the same kids we keep running into, are headed towards the diner that we keep ending up at.”

Sam looked at him, his eyes widening a bit, a look of shock and understanding dawning on his face. “Let’s go,” he said.

* * *

#### Fifteen Minutes Earlier

“You know what I could really go for right now?” Veronica announced, just after Betty hit the winning shot into Jughead and Archie’s goal. “A chocolate milkshake from Pop’s.”

“I was just thinking the exact same thing,” Betty said immediately. “Strawberry for me, though, obviously.” Jughead and Archie grinned, and then a sly smile crossed Veronica’s face. “Why don’t we sneak out, over to Pop’s, just for a bit?” she asked.

“It’s your party, Veronica! You can’t just leave,” Betty said, although the same smile was appearing on her own face. “Sure I can,” Veronica said cheerfully. “The guests are all happy, and well-supplied with snacks and drinks. We won’t be away for long. Come on, my treat. What do you think, Willow? Jughead?”

Willow had a conflicted expression on her face, and took a moment to reply. “You know what, I don’t see why not,” she said eventually. “I did enjoy the food there the other day quite a lot. Sounds fun,” she concluded.

But Jughead paused, a strange look on his face. “I don’t think so, actually,” he said. “What?” Veronica said, stunned. “But you love Pop’s.”

“Guess I’ve just been there too much lately,” Jughead replied. Betty frowned—it seemed as though her boyfriend were hiding something. But Veronica just shrugged. “Suit yourself,” she said, her mood not dampened. She smiled at him. “We’ll bring you back some food, just in case you change your mind,” she concluded, and he gave her a look that Betty could only describe as…grateful?

This is how, some minutes later, once shoes and jackets had been collected, the five teens came to be exiting _The Pembrooke,_ and walking up the street towards the forest, having decided to walk through it in order to get to the diner faster. “We’ll have to go by Sweetwater River. It’s a little spooky at night, but completely safe. Is that okay?” Veronica asked Willow hesitantly. 

“Absolutely,” Willow replied.

* * *

Dean and Sam tailed the group for several blocks, the summer daylight fading fast before their eyes. “Are they going towards the diner?” Dean asked, bemused. “They must be,” Sam replied, equally as uncertain. And then, just as he said that, the teens turned, and began crossing the street to go towards the trees. None of them had spotted the brothers.

“Damn it,” Dean said. “How are we going to follow them without them noticing us? We’re going to need our flashlights at this point.”

“Do we even need to follow them?” Sam asked in response. “Castiel has been vague about what this ‘Plan’ entails, and…I don’t know, man. Following a bunch of teens around, late at night? Doesn’t seem right. Besides,” he added, “I got to know Betty--the blonde one--a bit yesterday, and we talked directly about the supernatural…it really doesn’t seem like there’s a case there, based on what she said about her own life.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, man. I know what you mean. The town is weird, but I’m not picking up on anything up our alley,” he said. “Should we just go back to the café and wait some more?” he asked, and his brother shrugged, then nodded, albeit uncertainly. Both brothers gave one final glance to the teens, who were at this point disappearing between the trees.

And then, they saw something chilling. The dark-haired young woman, the one that neither had seen until tonight, paused just before the trees. She turned her head, and looked right at the brothers. 

To the untrained eye, it may have seemed like nothing, a blink maybe. But the Winchesters, who had been hunting for years and were able to distinguish such things, saw her eyes turn completely, unmistakably, black.

She lifted a hand and waved at them, and then disappeared from view.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, and Castiel race to save Betty from Willow.

# Chapter Eleven

Betty felt the hairs on her neck rise the moment that she and her friends entered the forest. There had always been a mysterious, eerie quality to it, and that seemed the case especially tonight, the air dark, the trees covering the stars above.

But she soon forgot her trepidation, for at that moment a bright light shone in her face. “Three…four…” the voice of Veronica said, from behind the light. “All right, everyone’s accounted for.” 

“You could’ve just asked if we were here, Veronica,” Betty grumbled, not that mad, “instead of temporarily reducing our capacity for sight.” She heard Archie, who, judging by the sound of his voice, was next to Veronica, laugh a little.

“Sorry, Bets,” Veronica replied sheepishly. “I’ll lead for us,” she added, shining her light at the path ahead, cleared by the footsteps of those who had been here before them. Betty reached out for Willow, linking arms with her, and the four teens set off deeper into the forest. Veronica and Archie in front; Willow and Betty trailing behind them. Soon enough, Betty looked back, and couldn’t see the outside world at all anymore.

* * *

“ _What the fuck!?_ ” Sam exclaimed, as the two brothers immediately set off at a brisk pace towards the forest. 

“I don’t know, man,” Dean replied, bemused. They stood there for a long moment, processing what they'd just seen.

After a few moments, the older brother spoke again. “That is one well-adjusted demon. No awkward movements, nothing to tip us off,” he observed. The brothers began to run. Approximately three seconds later, both brothers stopped in unison, both having heard the third set of steps behind them, and turned sharply only to see the face of Castiel. “Damn it, Cas,” Dean said, “how long have you been there, behind us?”

The angel didn’t continue moving, but instead simply stood there, staring in the direction of the forest. So, the brothers stopped running, and looked at him questioningly. “ _That WITCH was_ waving _at me,_ ” the angel whispered hotly, the earlier look of displeasure now replaced with absolute fury. “Those teens are in danger,” he added. 

“No kidding,” Dean replied. “Who is she?” 

Castiel didn’t answer this, either, just thought for a moment. “We must go into the forest together,” he then declared. He gazed at the spot where she'd just been, and his brow furrowed. “She left me something…” he said, and the trio walked up to the trees, where a folded-up piece of paper now sat. Something was written on it.

_Don’t come after me, Castiel,_ it read. _We’re just going for a walk._

* * *

For a while, the only sound was that of footsteps in dirt, and then gravel, and then dirt again, as the group of teenagers made their way through established pathways and dubious shortcuts.

* * *

“ _Of course_ we’re going after her,” Castiel said shortly. Dean and Sam looked at each other, and nodded.

* * *

“Archie, Veronica,” Betty called. “Slow down a little.”

* * *

“Oh, shit,” Sam muttered. “My flashlight. The batteries are dead.” Hearing this, Dean gave Sam a look. “Come on, Sammy,” he said, rolling his eyes, “that’s a rookie mistake.” He pulled out his own flashlight, and pushed the “on” button.

Nothing happened.

* * *

“I can’t see them anymore,” Betty said, tilting her head to try and see through the thick maze of trees. “Can you?” 

Willow shook her head, although with the low lighting, this wasn’t visible at all. “No,” she whispered.

* * *

As the Winchester brothers pulled out spare batteries from their bags, Castiel finally began to fill them in on the details of the ‘Plan’.

* * *

“Don’t worry,” Betty said. “My boyfriend knows every corner of this forest, and he showed me how to find my way around. I can get us to the diner from here. We can walk over and meet the other two there. And Veronica knows where she’s going. I would have corrected her if she weren’t heading in the right direction.” She paused. “I’m just a little worried about how dark it is,” she murmured.

Willow spoke up. “I’ve got a flashlight," she said. "Switched out the batteries not long ago.” She took it out of her bag and shone it ahead of them. They began walking.

Several minutes passed.

* * *

“Hold on,” Castiel whispered. “I think I see them.” And indeed, not far ahead of them were the pair of “teens” that they were following. Just then, the one who was calling herself “Willow” looked over her shoulder, directly at the three men. Again, her eyes flashed black, and she scowled at Castiel.

“We have to isolate her,” Castiel said. “Let us not scare the mortal. She does not need to know about our world.” 

Sam hesitated, then spoke up. “Uh, Castiel, there’s something you should know…”

* * *

“So, this is Sweetwater River?” Willow asked in a hushed whisper. The two had come across the clearing, not far away from where Jason Blossom had been discovered. The sound of water rushed in their ears, surprisingly quiet.

“Yes,” Betty murmured back. “It’s a lot nicer during the daytime,” she added, and she heard her companion laugh. “I believe that,” Willow whispered. Slowly, they walked down the muddy grass towards the bridge. “This is so creepy,” she whispered, her voice sounding somewhat sad. 

“Why?” Betty asked. “Because of Jason? Or just because, well, the whole forest is kind of creepy right now?”

“Both,” Willow replied, as they began crossing the bridge. 

* * *

“There they are,” Castiel muttered. “There she is." The group of three slowed their pace dramatically, as they came out of the trees. Down below, at the river’s level, the two teens had reached the midpoint of the bridge, and were looking into the water below.

* * *

“Is this where they found your sister’s boyfriend?” Willow asked, her eyes widening, as they stopped at the midpoint of the bridge. 

Betty shook her head. “No, but we’re not far away from there,” she replied. “It’s occurred to me before that…well, that this might have been where Jason’s body was dumped.” The two teens walked to the edge of the bridge, and looked down into the water.

“That’s so sad,” Willow whispered, her voice catching a bit, “how his father just shot him like that. Awful. That sort of thing just shouldn’t ever happen,” she concluded, and a few tears fell from her eyes into the river. 

“Yeah,” Betty whispered back, “I know what you mean.” She paused. “That whole family is so messed up, though. Cheryl seems to be doing all right, considering.” Both were quiet for a few moments, taking in the river.

* * *

They were closing in on her, she must know it. But she appeared to have forgotten about them altogether. 

Or had she?

Sam looked closer. She was raising her arm—she was putting her hand on Betty’s back. “Oh, _no,_ ” he whispered, his eyes widening. “She’s gonna push her in.” It was a steep enough fall to break bones, at the very least.

He started to run.

* * *

Betty leaned over the edge of the bridge, just a little, to watch the moving water. “Careful,” Willow whispered. “Don’t fall.” She raised her arm, hesitantly placing it on Betty’s back, ready to pull her back if needed.

“ _Stop right there,_ ” a voice shouted from behind them. 

Betty jumped, and looked over at the voice, startled. Willow just rolled her eyes.

* * *

“Take your hands off her,” Sam yelled, running towards Willow. 

Castiel and Dean were right behind him. “The jig is up, sweetheart,” Dean called out, “we know all about you.”

“Which part?” the demon retorted, stepping back from the edge, as Betty looked at the newcomers with confusion. “Sam?” she asked, startled. “What are you doing here? And who are these two?” She paused, looking at the demon, then back at Sam. “Do you know him?” she asked the demon.

“Oh, I’m _well_ acquainted with the these two…although we’ve never met,” the demon replied, looking at Dean and Sam. “I have to say," she added, in a pleasant tone, "I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. The two of you are legendary, in Heaven _and_ in Hell. Quite the accomplishment. My name is—”

“We know your name,” Sam snarled at her, his eyes narrowed. “Now kindly explain to Betty just _why_ you’re here, and more importantly, why you were about to murder her.” 

As he said this, Castiel walked over to the demon and murmured a few words. A ring of fire lit up around her feet, preventing her from walking anywhere. She sighed loudly, and rolled her eyes. “Is that _really_ necessary?” she asked.

“Hold on,” Betty interjected, looking back and forth between Sam and the demon. “Sam, did you say _'murder'_?”

“I was _not_ about to murder you, Betty,” the demon quickly said, glaring at Sam. “I reached out to protect you. I was afraid you’d fall.” 

But Betty was blinking, a stunned expression crossing her face. “Wait, if Sam’s here—he’s a hunter—are you a _demon_?” She looked back and forth from the demon to Sam, her mouth open, clearly stunned and in need of an explanation.

The demon sighed. “Could you _please_ undo this?” she asked Castiel, gesturing towards the fire. “I won’t run, I promise. I’d just like to explain who exactly I am, to Betty and to your associates. No offence, big brother, it’s just…I’d like them all to hear it from my own mouth, not just yours, and I can’t really tell the story if I’m distracted by the constant fear of burning my limbs off.”

“Fine,” Castiel replied evenly, his eyes narrowed. He walked over to her and waved his arm, the fire instantly disappearing. Without a word to each other, Castiel, Sam, and Dean moved their positions so that they formed a triangle shape, with the demon in the centre, completely surrounded. Betty stood where she’d been, at the edge of the bridge.

“Explain yourself,” Castiel said, and the demon began to talk.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At Sweetwater River, Willow explains who she truly is, and the purpose of the 'Plan'.

# Chapter Twelve

“I wasn’t lying, when I told you and Veronica that my name was Willow,” the demon said, addressing Betty. “That’s true—my birth name was Willow Hawthorne. But I’ll get to that shortly.” She paused, clearly trying to figure out where to start.

“The thing I didn’t tell you both,” she went on, still addressing Betty, “was that although I was raised in New York City, I was born there…a few centuries ago, in the fifteen hundreds.” She took a moment, to observe Betty’s reaction to this. 

Had she not met Sam the previous day, and learned that demons _did_ exist in the real world—and therefore, that other beings of the supernatural variety could, very likely, exist as well—Betty might have found herself completely overwhelmed by this disclosure. After all, it was just the latest of a long list of shocking things that she’d found out in the recent past.

As stunned as she was to hear that Willow was several hundred years old, though, she _had_ met Sam, she _had_ learned those things, and so it was that after several seconds, she did not faint or scream, but instead took a breath. “Okay,” she said, albeit a little weakly. She nodded at Willow, giving her reassurance that she could go on.

( _Now,_ that’s _the typical reaction that Dean and I get, when we tell people what we do for a living,_ Sam couldn’t help but think.)

“I’ll spare you the gruesome details, _and so will he,_ ” Willow said, giving Castiel a warning look, “but the truth is, I died when I was only sixteen.” She paused, frowning a little.

“How did you die?” Betty asked softly. Willow looked over at her, a tense expression on her face. “Murder,” she said, in a clipped tone. “And a brutal one, at that. Done by someone whom I trusted very much.” She averted her gaze, and took a few deep breaths, before continuing. “I’d been a good person up until my death, and so I went to Heaven,” she said. 

Betty’s expression shifted slightly, became a different type of surprised. “So Heaven is real?” she asked.

“Yes,” Willow said hesitantly, “it is, although…” and here, somehow, she and Castiel shared a look of understanding. “…it is a little, um, _different_ from your human legends. Your stories and beliefs, in the Western world at least, paint it as a place for respite, a very tranquil and forgiving land. That it is, at least in my experience it has been. It’s safe, and all that.” She sighed. “What I’m getting at is that although it’s a very _physically_ safe place, the people who arrive there don’t always feel that way. Victims of brutal crimes, people who have lived very harsh and unjust lives…they have to work through some resentment when they get there, sometimes, but they always, always do. Everyone, that is, except for me.”

“You see, I was so torn up over the way I’d died, so _angry._ It seemed to me that—although there were others who were also feeling resentment and anger over the way that their human lives had gone—I was the only one who felt true rage. Years passed. I was the only one who couldn’t let it go. I met people who had died long after me, who worked through their anger, and then who reached a state of inner peace, consistently. But I couldn’t do it.”

Betty frowned. “You couldn’t have been the only one. Plenty of people are murdered unfairly, horribly.”

Willow nodded. “That is true. What I mean is that the level of anger that I felt was beyond what anyone else around me felt. People who go to Heaven…some are angry, sure, but…” and again, she and Castiel looked at each other. Willow had the expression on her face of someone who couldn’t quite find the words to articulate what she was thinking.

“If I may,” Castiel interjected just then, and Willow nodded. “Heaven looks different for everyone who goes there. It was designed to be an extremely calming environment for any human that arrives. The air, the colours, the smell, that a person who goes to Heaven experiences…all are different, and depend on what said human liked during their time on Earth.”

“Our Father was aware of Willow long before she died,” Castiel continued. “Even as a sixteen-year-old human, she was complicated. He took great care in designing her Heaven, because He felt remorseful that He wouldn’t be able to save her, and He knew that she would have, ah, difficulties in finding peace with the way she’d left her human life.”

Willow nodded. “He was right,” she sighed. “Despite everything that He did, I just couldn’t accept that that was how my story ended. So after several years in Heaven, I left.”

“You _left_ Heaven?” Betty asked, stunned. 

“Yes,” Willow replied shortly. “An opening presented itself to me—a tiny glitch in the boundaries, which I waited for for years—and I escaped, returned to Earth, disguised myself, and hid out for a while.” She swallowed. “I had come up with a plan for revenge that was _far_ uglier, way more violent, than the manner in which I died. I mean, having these ideas in my head alone was one reason I felt I didn’t belong in Heaven.” Willow took a breath, then continued. “I stalked my killer for decades, and made sure he knew it. I had an unbelievable amount of stamina—I was fuelled by rage. I never let up my reign of terror over the man. I spent every breathing moment focused on my revenge. And finally, I set a trap, and carried out my plan.” She paused, her lips pressed together.

Dean and Sam shared a look. Castiel hadn’t filled them in on _this._ Silently, each steeled himself, preparing for the demon to behave erratically, to act upon violent thoughts. Castiel just continued to glare at her, his gaze icy.

“After that,” Willow went on, “I knew I couldn’t go back to Heaven. I didn’t even try. There was no way that someone who had willingly, cunningly _left,_ let alone all the things I did to that person, could possibly even touch the gates. So I went downstairs, so to speak, and lived in Hell for a while. There, I was welcomed with open arms.”

“I spent years—centuries—torturing hoodlums like the one who murdered me,” she said. “I was good at it, and I gave them what they deserved. I was creative, crafty; I knew how to destroy any corrupted soul that was unlucky enough to be placed with me, and in record time.”

“It seemed I was _destined_ to torture. I was the absolute best of the best. Time went by, and I became a legend in Hell. I inspired respect, even intimidation, in my fellow demons. So I took a page from the King’s book, and changed my name. I just added a couple more middle names, really. I became Willow Iris Terra Catherine Hawthorne—so that my initials were ‘W. I. T. C. H.’, and I started calling myself ‘The WITCH’ for short, even though I am not one. As far as I know, actually,” and here her tone became almost conversational, as though she were commenting on the weather, “that’s how I’m still known, there, although they don’t speak of me with admiration anymore.”

Willow paused. “Even though I was incredibly good at what I did in Hell, and even though I’d made such a name for myself there, in a way that I never had before, I didn’t take any joy in what I was doing. In fact, I hated it, although I didn’t admit it to myself for a long time. You see…”

At this point, both Winchester brothers were openly scrutinizing Willow, not because of what she was saying, but because of how she carried herself. In walking through the forest a few minutes ago, each brother had prepared himself for a typical demon; prone to lashing out at any moment, unpredictable, erratic, saying only a few threatening words at a time. And Willow was clearly a demon—her eyes turned black, her own admission of her actions spoke for itself—and yet she moved fluidly in her own body, like a human. She could carry on a conversation, but in a rational way, not hurling insults and mockery in the way that demons typically did. In fact, she spoke intelligently, like a human would.

“…demon torturers in Hell enjoy the work; that’s why they do it. Me, I was still angry over the way that I’d died, and that anger motivated me to learn exactly how to break even the most irredeemable sadists. But _then,_ something happened that I wasn’t expecting, so slowly that I can’t definitely say when it began, nor when it became noticeable. That anger gave way to an incredible sadness. I started having to fake the anger, make an effort to maintain my status as a class-A torturer. But after a while, it became clear to me that I couldn’t ignore how desperately unhappy I was. I realized that sooner or later, one of my colleagues would catch on, and then I’d _really_ be in trouble.” Willow shuddered, and took a moment before speaking again. “So I began thinking of what I should do instead. I knew that there was no way that I could seek advice from the boss—demons don’t have changes of heart, ever, so that’d be as good as shackling myself up to a torture device. I had to figure it out on my own. Once I realized that, I was able to keep going for a few years, pretending to be the sadist that everyone knew me to be, while secretly plotting the next step.”

She smiled, remembering. “One night, opportunity struck, much like the first time around. I was able to sneak out of Hell, and back onto Earth. Once again, I disguised myself. For decades, I pretended to be human, used several different aliases, learned a few languages…waited for the next opportunity.”

Here, Castiel interjected. “I’ve heard this story a few times, and I’m always amazed that you were able to do that,” he mused. “It must have been incredibly difficult, not getting caught.”

Willow nodded. “Definitely,” she said earnestly, looking at him. “There were demons everywhere, looking for me…the boss sent hundreds of them, determined to drag me back into Hell, to make me answer for my escape. They aren’t very forgiving, demons. But I managed to keep a low profile, despite a few very close calls…I learned not to go to airports, for example,” she said, with a visible shudder.

“Anyway, after several decades on Earth,” Willow continued, “opportunity struck yet again. A door was opened to me…the chance to go back upstairs. And so I—”

“—you marched back on up to Heaven, knocked on the doors, and I answered,” Castiel interrupted again, with a disapproving look. “Confident that you’d get back in.”

“I may have been faking it a little,” Willow said, a small grin on her face. “I’ve always been rather creative, and when I really want something—and I wanted to go back to Heaven, believe me—I put my mind to figuring out how to get it. All that time in Hell and on Earth had reminded me that there was no place like Heaven,” she said. “But I didn’t know how Father would react to my presence. I figured He wanted nothing to do with me, at that point. What angel could possibly torture anyone? I’d fallen from His favour. My wings were long gone. The similarities to the story of my own boss in Hell were only too obvious.”

Castiel was shaking his head, a confused expression on his face. “That’s not what I heard,” he said. “I heard you came back because you had nowhere else to go.”

Willow frowned at him, and took a few seconds to reply. “I don’t know where you heard that,” she replied, “but it's not true. I spent decades on Earth, hiding myself successfully, and I had a good time of it, too. I could very well have stayed here forever, and never been caught. No, I came back to Heaven because I’d finally recognized it as my true home.” Castiel just looked at her for several moments, then nodded slowly, his eyebrows furrowed. 

“Like you said, I knocked on the doors, and you answered. It took several months to convince you that a meeting with Father was worthwhile—that I should even cross the doors of Heaven, to begin with.” Here, she smirked at Castiel. “Given the amount of suspicion you’ve had for me, and the amount of trouble you’ve given me, since that day, I’m honestly surprised that you let me in…Anyway, so I had the meeting with Father,” Willow continued, “and He welcomed me back. I could tell that He was skeptical…I understood that…but _what a day_ that was,” she said, smiling widely, her happiness evident. 

“Anyway,” she said to Betty, “that was a mere three years ago. In Earth years, that is—a bit longer in our time zone. After I’d settled back into Heaven—become comfortable, you know, and actually made the effort to work through my feelings about my death—Father called me into his office for a meeting.”

Willow paused. “He said that he’d given it a lot of thought over the years, and that he was seriously considering planning some sort of small-scale ‘divine intervention’ into the doings of humans on Earth. To set them on the right course, that sort of thing. He told me he’d need to think about it more, but that if he ever decided to go ahead with such a ‘Plan’, that I’d be the ideal candidate to lead it, as I understand both goodness and evil quite well. And that I’d understand how to shift evil into goodness, given that, ultimately, I chose to return to Heaven.” She turned to the Winchester brothers. “This ‘Plan’ that he’s has been hinting at,” she said, gesturing at Castiel, “—did he tell you what, exactly, it is?”

“He told us, while we were walking over here,” Sam replied, “that because of the spike in criminal activity in Riverdale over the last couple of years, uh, God sent someone, an angel, down to Earth to investigate into why that was, and if the humans living here needed divine help. He also said that, uh, said angel had lived in Hell, and that she wasn’t entirely trustworthy.”

Willow nodded. “I figured as much,” she said, not seeming angry. She turned to Castiel. “I’m guessing you got them to come to Riverdale to keep an eye on me, under the guise of being part of the ‘Plan’?”

Castiel nodded. “But you already knew that, didn’t you.” He said this as a statement, not as a question.

“I might have. That might be why I wrecked your car,” Willow said, hesitantly, to a shocked Dean. “Don’t hate me!" she added, holding her hands up in defence. "I was there in the diner, listening in, as the two of you took in the general atmosphere of the town, and its people. And I realized that the two of you would have to be convinced to stay in the town, for you didn’t like it at all,’” she explained. “So…I gave you a reason to stay.” She held up a hand, and snapped her fingers. “It’s fixed now, I promise. It’ll run even better than before.”

She took a breath, and then turned to Betty. “Well, Betty, I know that this must be a lot to take in,” she said sympathetically to the blonde. “I’ll summarize.”

“Essentially, I am both demon and angel—no, I don’t count myself fully ‘angel’, not after my time in Hell, and I don’t think I ever will,” she said to Castiel, “—and I was sent here, to Riverdale, to check out whether there were something paranormal going on in this town, that had caused all of the murders and crimes that have happened here in the last couple of years. That day in the library, when you and Sam met?” she said. “I was there, in disguise. _I_ put holy water in the fire alarm sprinklers. I wanted to see if you were a demon, Betty…if some kind of demonic blood runs in your family, causing your father to commit those crimes. I knew all about the ‘Black Hood’, and Jason’s murder, long before I met you.”

“What about the black sky?” Sam asked. Willow’s eyes widened, and she shared a look with Castiel. After a moment, she laughed a little, although he didn’t seem to find the topic all that amusing.

“The one thing that we all forgot about,” she replied, rather sheepishly, “was the way that the climate would react to an angel-demon hybrid openly walking the streets of the Earth, mingling with its human citizens, and carrying out the beginning stages of a divine intervention. That’s why your weather’s been rather stormy, and it’s _definitely_ why your sky turned black for a bit there,” she said, chuckling. “Sorry about that. Should have caught that one sooner. Once I’d gotten the word to Father, the situation cleared up within a couple hours.” 

“Anyway,” she continued, “you reacted normally to the holy water, Betty, and honestly…” and here, Willow paused, and gave Betty a reassuring smile, “…once I got to know you all in person, I realized that you and your friends are all really strong, capable people, and whatever this weird upsurge in crime here over the last couple of years has been, I am sure that you can handle it. You don’t need me,” she concluded, reaching out and placing her hand overtop of Betty’s. “You’ll be just fine on your own.”

* * *

After a moment, Betty spoke up. “So, what happens now?” she asked the group, and Sam and Dean looked at each other, then at her, both appearing uncertain. 

Willow looked at her. “With me, you mean?” she replied. “Well, I’ll stick around for the rest of my ‘road trip’—until tomorrow, that is. Then, I’ll leave, and I won’t be seeing you or Veronica again. Like I said, you all have a good handle on things, and the crime doesn’t have supernatural causes. I see no reason to stay.” She paused.

“Would you prefer that we erased your memory of this?” she asked Betty. “I understand if you do want that,” she continued, giving the blonde a kind smile. “Hearing all of this must have been overwhelming.”

Betty took a moment to consider this. Was it really, though? After all, as she’d told Sam yesterday, she’d long suspected that the supernatural was real. She considered how she’d felt after encountering the demon. Stunned, sure, but not altogether _surprised._

“And of course, if we don’t erase your memory, you can’t tell anyone about this,” Willow continued. “You mustn’t even write anything down, not even in a private journal or anywhere,” she warned. “The Earth’s best kept secret—the existence of Heaven and Hell, demons and angels—needs to stay secret.”

Betty nodded; this made sense. How would she feel, keeping this secret from everyone? “I…” she started, then realized that she needed to know something, first. “What, exactly, will you erase?” she asked Willow, who opened her mouth to reply.

“ _I_ will erase,” the man in the trench coat interjected, and Willow rolled her eyes, “everything that you just learned about ‘Willow’ here, as well as your memories of Sam and Dean Winchester,” he said, gesturing at the two other men, and Betty’s eyes widened. “It will seem as though the two of you made the walk through the forest to the diner, tonight, with no complications; that this conversation never happened…and as though you never met Sam in the library,” he explained. 

“If you choose not to have your memories erased,” the angel went on, “but you tell someone about any of this, at _any_ time over the course of your life, I will have no choice but to immediately erase your memories, whether you wish it or not.”

Betty nodded slowly, looking from him to the two men, to Willow, and then back at him. And then, she remembered the weight of the Cooper ‘darkness’—how carrying that particular secret had led to her father’s actions. More accurately, how the _way_ that her father had carried that secret had led to his actions.

“Your father is going to go to Hell, Betty,” Willow said bluntly, looking straight into her eyes. Betty shivered, not because of the statement, but because of its timing. “How are you going to feel, carrying that knowledge for the rest of your life, and not being able to tell anyone?” 

* * *

Betty’s thoughts were swirling as she tried to figure out the best course of action for herself. Sam stared at her, trying to figure out whether he should speak up, find some kind of insight for her, as a hunter who had gotten to know her a little yesterday. The moment stretched on, became several minutes. Sam kept thinking, unable to come up with anything to say.

In the end, it was _Dean_ who interjected. “Don’t get your memories erased, Betty,” he said firmly. “Won’t do a damn thing in your favour.” He paused, then spoke again. “Changing what you know to be true, in order to make yourself feel better,” he continued, “is not what it’s cracked up to be. Trust me.” Although Betty didn’t know it, he was thinking about the time he’d found himself at the mercy of a Djinn.

Betty nodded at him, relief coursing through her. She’d been wanting to keep her memories, and he’d said exactly what she needed to hear. She turned to the angel. “No thank you, Castiel,” she said firmly. “I can keep this secret. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Are you sure?” Willow replied softly. “This is quite a secret to keep, you know. And he really will have to step in if you tell anyone, even if it’s years from now. Too much about our world has gotten out already, and made its way into your legends and books. It is law now…he will _have_ to erase your memories…not that I think that you would tell, though,” she mused.

“I’m sure,” Betty replied decisively. “I would rather know than not know."

“You can’t even tell Veronica,” Willow warned. 

“I know,” Betty replied. “It’s all right.” 

Willow looked in her eyes one more time, and apparently found what she was searching for, for she gave her a smile and a nod, and then turned away.

“Well, I suppose your work here is done, Castiel,” Willow said, raising her eyebrows pointedly at the angel. “I’m trustworthy enough to get her to the diner. Besides, her friends are waiting for her. I’m not planning on smiting them all, you know.”

Castiel all but rolled his eyes, but stepped back. “Fine,” he said, and Dean turned to go with him. But Sam stood where he was, a suspicious look on his face.

“Hold on,” he said.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As their conversation draws to a close, Betty reveals a surprising truth to the Winchester brothers and Castiel.

# Chapter Thirteen

“Betty,” Sam said, frowning, “how did you know _his_ name?” He pointed at Castiel. “No one said his name before you did. And I definitely didn’t mention him the other day, when we talked.” As Sam spoke, he didn’t miss the sly smile that began to cross Willow’s face. 

“Observant as ever, Samuel,” she commented. “You almost noticed it the other day, in the library…”

Sam frowned. “Noticed what?” he asked Willow. 

Her smile just widened. “I think Betty can answer this one,” she said, and the group turned towards the blonde.

“Well…” Betty said, blushing, “um, the truth is, I…recognized him from the book series I’ve been reading. The _Supernatural_ series, by Carver Edlund.”

Dean groaned loudly. “Not this again,” he said, putting his head in his hands, as Sam stared at her, openmouthed. After a moment, Dean spoke again. “Don’t tell me you got a tattoo, like the others,” he continued.

At this, Betty laughed. “No, I don’t. Although maybe I’ll get one, knowing what I know now. Could be a good idea,” she mused. “Anyway, I’d heard that the characters were based off of real life—there are fans who claim to have met you both—but I didn’t put two and two together until a moment ago, when _he_ ,” she gestured at Castiel, “used your full names. And then I realized who he must be, if you two are the Winchesters. The angel in the trench coat.” 

Betty paused. “I’m reading _The Rapture_ right now. I’m guessing you got control of Jimmy’s, um, vessel again, after all?” she asked Castiel. But he didn’t reply—he was just staring at her. “Don’t mind him,” Dean said, smirking a bit, “this is his first fan encounter. And you’re right, Novak was kind enough to let him back in.”

“ _I’ve_ known all along,” Willow boasted. “I saw her reading the book a looong time ago.” She said this looking at Castiel, who just glared at her. “It’s a good one, big bro,” she said to him. “Edlund really goes into detail about your backstory. I’m kinda hoping he’ll write about _me_ sometime soon. I think I’d make for a great supporting character in the Winchester Gospel.”

“For the last time,” Castiel grumbled, “we are _not_ siblings. I am _not_ your big brother.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue: The day after the party, Betty, Jughead, Veronica, and Willow get together at Pop's Diner.

# Chapter Fourteen

## Sunday

#### Afternoon

At four thirty-three on an especially rainy Sunday, Pop’s Diner was as busy as ever. People were crowding by the entrance doors, having arrived far too late in the day to secure a table immediately upon arriving. 

This didn’t apply to Jughead Jones, of course, who was at this moment seated in the usual booth five rows away from the left of the entrance, forever typing away. He’d arrived early that morning, not because he’d needed to—the honorary reservation was as permanent as ever—but because he’d _had_ to—a stroke of inspiration had hit him at six in the morning, and he’d learned from previous experience that the food at Pop’s was the best thing in order to maintain said inspiration. Betty sat next to him, having arrived a couple hours ago. As the bell above the door rang, she was currently reading her own novel, the two teenagers content to be lost in their own worlds. 

Looking up, she smiled and waved at Veronica and Willow, who walked into the diner arm in arm. “Betty!” Veronica cried out. “Can you believe it’s Willow’s last day here?”

“I really can’t,” Betty replied, smiling at Willow. Veronica continued talking. “She actually insisted on helping me clean up this morning,” she said. 

“Well, can you blame me?” Willow asked. “I wanted to hang out with you a bit more before I leave. Thanks for seeing me off here, by the way. I’m going to miss Riverdale.”

“You are welcome back anytime,” Veronica said, and Betty nodded in agreement, her eyes catching Willow’s, the two briefly sharing a sad smile. Jughead continued typing—creative breakthroughs couldn’t be ignored—although he looked up to nod his agreement. (The two had had a great conversation, last night at Veronica’s party, about their favourite books. He’d been amazed at how well-read she was—she could talk at length about all kinds of novels and authors, even ones from several centuries ago. And she’d recommended a few selections that he’d never heard of, all of which sounded like just the kind of things he’d enjoy.)

“How are you feeling about your parents coming home tomorrow?” Willow asked Veronica, who sighed. “Well, I knew it was going to happen eventually…” she said. “I don’t know. We’ll see how things are.” She shrugged. Just then, Willow’s phone buzzed, so she pulled it out and looked at it. “That’s my ride,” she said softly, giving Veronica and Betty a sad smile, then getting up and pulling her bag onto her shoulder.

“We’ll miss you,” Veronica said, getting up to hug her first. “I’ll miss you, too,” Willow said to her.

Betty got up, and Willow hugged her tightly. “Remember what I said,” she whispered in Betty’s ear. “You’ll be just fine.” They pulled away, and Betty smiled and nodded. 

“Bye, Jughead,” Willow said. “Goodbye, Willow,” he replied. “Thanks for the book recommendations.” In response, she grinned. “Anytime,” she answered, and walked away.

Betty watched closely as she left the diner, getting into a car parked on the opposite side of the diner from where they were. She saw Willow get into the passenger seat, but she couldn’t quite make out the driver’s face….and then, the car pulled away. 

“Well, I guess I should be going,” Veronica said. “There may have been a couple of rooms that I didn’t let Willow see, that still need to be cleaned. Besides, my parents have a habit of showing up when I’m not expecting them.” Betty nodded. “I’ll text you,” both said at the same time, and then laughed. “Jinx,” Veronica said, grinning.

“Actually, I have to get going as well,” Jughead said. “There’s a Serpent meeting coming up tonight. Inner circle only,” he said to Betty, and she nodded. “Good luck,” she said. 

Soon enough, she was by herself at the booth. After finishing her strawberry milkshake (what else?), as well as the chapter of her book that she was on (again, what else?), she got up from her seat, packed up her things, and went over to the counter to pay. “Hello, Sam,” she said, when she got there.

The younger Winchester brother turned around from his seat on the counter, on the opposite side of the diner from where Betty and her friends had sat. “Hey, Betty,” he said, his face breaking into a smile. “Did you just get here?”

“No, I’ve been here for a while, with my friends in the booth over there. I saw you when you first came in,” she said, “but you didn’t see me.” She paused. “Where’s Dean?” she asked. The older Winchester was nowhere to be seen—and neither, she had noticed, was the Impala.

“Oh, well,” Sam said hesitantly, “he’s, uh…he’s checking on the car. You know, to make sure she's _really_ fixed. He doesn’t like anyone other than himself, and me sometimes, repairing her when she’s broken.” Then, a strange expression crossed his face. “But I guess you would know that,” he said. “That’s still so weird to say. It’s so odd that people actually read about our lives.”

“I can’t imagine what it would be like, having people read about my life like that,” Betty replied. Sam shook his head. “You have _no_ idea,” he murmured.

“So where are you headed next?” Betty asked. At this, Sam’s gaze darted away from hers. “Uh, Maryland, I think,” he mumbled. 

Betty decided not to press him about it. Then, Sam’s eyes focused on something outside. “Dean’s here,” he said. 

The two said a simple goodbye, each reminded of yesterday, when they’d said goodbye to each other in this very spot. 

_“Sam, I can’t thank you enough for listening to me,” Betty said, as they neared the diner. She paused. “Although we live very…different lives, you’ve spoken directly to the feeling that I’ve been hiding for months, and I feel better already.”_

_“Anytime,” Sam replied, a little distantly, but Betty was too busy savouring the feeling of intense relief to notice. Sam opened his mouth, then shut it again. “I…” he said. “Just…be careful,” he said, trying to keep his tone as light and even as possible. “Keeping your, uh, darker side locked down is an ongoing process. It’s not something that I’ve ever fully moved past from,” he continued, thinking of Ruby, and the demon blood that he’d secretly been drinking over the last several months._

_She looked over at him, concern dawning in her eyes, as they opened the doors to the diner, and walked in._

“Hey,” Betty said, frowning, thinking of that very moment, and realizing that she’d never asked him about it. “The other day, um…” But Sam was already getting up, throwing his bag over his shoulder, picking up the food for himself and Dean. “Yeah?” he asked, and Betty didn’t miss the look of apprehension that crossed his face.

“Um, just, be safe out there,” she mumbled instead. Sam nodded, again avoiding her eyes. “You, too. Bye, Betty,” he said, as he exited the diner. 

One last realization having to do with Sam Winchester came to her: that this was the last time she’d ever see him. 

Then the car pulled away, and Betty stood alone, without the Winchesters or The WITCH, wondering if she’d dreamed the whole thing.

# The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
